"  When  Miss  Lee  and  Mr.  Broioi  regularly  went  down  to  the  rocks." 

[See  page  CO. 


THE 

UNCLE  OF  AN  ANGEL 

AND    OTHER  STORIES 


BY 

THOMAS    A.  JANVIER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  AZTEC  TREASURE-HOUSE"  "COLOR  STUDIES' 
44  STORIES  OF  OLD  NEW  SPAIN  "  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   FRANKLIN    SQUARE 
1891 


Copyright,  1891,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

C.  A.  J. 


953008 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE   UNCLE   OF   AX   ANGEL 3 

A  BORDER   RUFFIAN.     ." 71 

OUR   PIRATE  HOARD 99 

A   TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK 135 

FOR   THE   HONOR   OF   FRANCE 165 

A   ROMANCE   OF   TOMPKINS  SQUARE 181 

AN   IDYL   OF  THE   EAST  SIDE  .  .  239 


ILLUSTEATIONS. 


PAGE 

"  When  Miss  Lee  and  Mr.  Brown  regularly  went  down  to  the 

rocks" Frontispiece 

"And  for  so  stout  a  gentleman  Mr.  Port  u'as  an  excellent 

horseman" 7 

"'JVbzo  suppose  T kiss  you  right  on  your  dear  little  bald  spot'1'1'1     18 

"And  before  Mr.  Port  could  rally  his  forces  they  had  entered 

the  carriage  and  had  driven  away" 33 

"  '  What  a  charming  girl  your  niece  is,  Port  /'  said  Mr.  Brown  "     37 

"The  yacht  rounded  to  off  the  Casino" 43 

"The  severe  Mrs.  Logan  llittenhouse" 57 

"One  night,  as  he  sat  beside  the  oven  smoking  his  second  pipe, 

lie  found  himself  thinking" 187 

"  When  the  dough  ivas  packed  in  earthen  pots,  over  which  blad 
ders  were  tied,  the  pots  were  set  away  in  the  coolest  part 
of  the  cellar" 191 

"The  young  apprentice  ivas  almost  smothered  in  the  dough- 
trough,  and  the  young  man  who  drove  the  bread-wagon  had 
his  head  broken  with  the  peel" 197 

"But  it  ivas  not  until  Minna  said,  very  faintly,  yet  with  a 
heavenly  sweetness  in  her  voice:  lThou  rnayst  come,  HansP 
that  Hans  actually  came" 231 

"The  comfortable  home  with  high-peaked  roof ,  partly  thatched 

and  partly  shingled" 241 

"And  when  he  was  come  home  with  her,  the  birds  broke  forth 

together  into  a  chorus  of  sweetest  song"  ......  251 

"And  of  a  Sunday  the  children  went  together  to  be  instructed 

by  the  Redemptorist  Fathers" 261 

"  ' Perhaps  it  is  with  me  also,  dear  father,  as  it  is  with  the 

birds'"  .  .281 


THE   UNCLE   OF  AN  ANGEL. 


-3S 


WHEN  Mr.  Hutelnnson  Port,  a  single  gentleman 
who  admitted  that  he  was  forty-seven  years  old  and 
who  actually  was  rising  sixty,  of  strongly  fixed  per 
sonal  habits,  and  with  the  most  positive  opinions 
upon  every  conceivable  subject,  came  to  know  that 
by  the  death  of  his  widowed  sister  he  had  been 
placed  in  the  position  of  guardian  of  that  sister's 
only  daughter,  Dorothy,  his  promptly  formed  and 
tersely  expressed  conception  of  the  situation  was 
that  the  agency  by  which  it  had  been  brought  about 
was  distinctively  diabolical.  The  fact  may  be  add 
ed  that  during  the  subsequent  brief  term  of  his 
guardianship  Mr.  Port  found  no  more  reason  for 


4  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

reversing  this  hastily  formed  opinion  than  did  the 
late  King  David  for  reversing  his  hastily  expressed 
views  in  regard  to  the  general  tendency  of  mankind 
towards  untruthfulness. 

Th^  two:  redeeming  features  of  Mr.  Port's  trying 
situati.on  were  that  his  duties  as  a  guardian  did  not 
l>e,g?n'  ;at.  All  'until  his  very  unnecessary  ward  was 
nearly  nineteen  years  old  ;  and  did  not  begin  active 
ly — his  ward  having  elected  to  remain  in  France 
for  a  season,  under  the  mild  direction  of  the  elderly 
cousin  who  had  been  her  mother's  travelling  com 
panion —  until  she  was  almost  twenty.  When  she 
was  one-and-twenty,  as  Mr.  Port  reflected  with  much 
satisfaction,  he  would  be  rid  of  her. 

Neither  by  nature  nor  by  education  had  Mr. 
Hutchinson  Port  been  fitted  to  discharge  the  duties 
which  thus  were  thrust  upon  him.  His  disposition 
was  introspective — but  less  in  a  philosophical  sense 
than  a  physiological,  for  the  central  point  of  his  in 
trospection  was  his  liver.  That  he  made  something 
of  a  fetich  of  this  organ  will  not  appear  surprising 
when  the  fact  is  stated  that  Mr.  Port  was  a  Phila- 
delphian.  In  that  city  of  eminent  good  cheer  livers 
are  developed  to  a  degree  that  only  Strasburg  can 
emulate. 

Naturally,  Mr.  Port's  views  of  life  were  bounded, 
more  or  less,  by  what  he  could  eat  with  impunity ; 
yet  beyond  this  somewhat  contracted  region  his 
thoughts  strayed  pleasantly  afield  into  the  far  wider 
region  of  the  things  which  he  could  not  eat  with 
impunity  ;  but  which,  with  a  truly  Spartan  epicure- 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL.  5 

anism,  he  did  eat — and  bravely  accepted  the  bilious 
consequences !  The  slightly  anxious,  yet  determined, 
expression  that  would  appear  upon  Mr.  Port's  clean 
shaven,  ruddy  countenance  as  he  settled  himself  to 
the  discussion  of  an  especially  good  and  especially 
dangerous  dinner  betrayed  heroic  possibilities  in  his 
nature  which,  being  otherwise  directed,  would  have 
won  for  him  glory  upon  the  martial  field. 

In  minor  matters — that  is  to  say,  in  all  relations 
of  life  not  pertaining  to  eating — Mr.  Port  was  very 
much  what  was  to  be  expected  of  him  from  his  birth 
and  from  his  environment.  Every  Sunday,  with  an 
exemplary  piety,  he  sat  solitary  in  the  great  square 
pew  in  St.  Peter's  which  had  been  occupied  by  suc 
cessive  generations  of  Ports  ever  since  the  year  1761, 
when  the  existing  church  was  completed.  Every 
other  day  of  the  week,  from  his  late  breakfast-time 
for  some  hours  onward,  he  sat  at  his  own  particular 
window  of  the  Philadelphia  Club  and  contemplated 
disparagingly  the  outside  world  over  the  top  of  his 
magazine  or  newspaper.  At  four,  precisely,  for  his 
liver's  sake,  he  rode  in  the  Park ;  and  for  so  stout 
a  gentleman  Mr.  Port  was  an  excellent  horseman. 
On  rare  occasions  he  dined  at  his  club.  Usually, 
he  dined  out;  for  while  generally  regarded  as  a  very 
disagreeable  person  at  dinners — because  of  his  habit 
of  finding  fault  with  his  food  on  the  dual  ground  of 
hygiene  and  quality — he  was  in  social  demand  be 
cause  his  presence  at  a  dinner  was  a  sure  indication 
that  the  giver  of  it  had  a  good  culinary  reputation  ; 
and  in  Philadelphia  such  a  reputation  is  most  high- 


6  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

ly  prized.  An  irrelevant  New  York  person,  after 
meeting  Mr.  Port  at  several  of  the  serious  dinner 
parties  peculiar  to  Philadelphia,  had  described  him 
as  the  animated  skeleton  ;  and  had  supplemented 
this  discourteous  remark  with  the  still  more  dis 
courteous  observation  that  as  a  feature  of  a  feast 
the  Egyptian  article  was  to  be  preferred — because 
it  did  not  overeat  itself,  and  did  keep  its  mouth 
shut.  However,  Mr.  Port's  obvious  rotundity  de 
stroyed  what  little  point  was  to  be  found  in  this 
meagre  witticism ;  and,  if  it  had  not,  the  fact  is  well- 
known  in  Philadelphia  that  New  Yorkers,  being  de 
scended  not  from  an  honorable  Quaker  ancestry  but 
from  successful  operations  in  Wall  Street,  are  not  to 
be  held  accountable  for  their  unfortunate  but  un 
avoidable  manifestations  of  a  frivolity  at  once  in 
elegant  and  indecorous. 

In  regard  to  his  summers,  Mr.  Port — after  a  month 
spent  for  the  good  of  his  liver  in  taking  the  waters 
at  the  White  Sulphur — of  course  went  to  Narragan- 
sett  Pier.  It  may  be  accepted  as  an  incontrover 
tible  truth  that  a  Philadelphia!)  of  a  certain  class 
who  missed  coming  to  the  Pier  for  August  would 
refuse  to  believe,  for  that  year  at  least,  in  the  alter 
nation  of  the  four  seasons;  while  an  enforced  absence 
from  that  damply  delightful  watering-place  for  two 
successive  summers  very  probably  would  lead  to  a 
rejection  of  the  entire  Copernican  system. 


'•'And  for  so  stout  a  gentleman  Mr.  Port  was  an  excellent  horseman." 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AX   ANGEL. 


II. 


Being  well  advanced  in  years, well  settled  in  habits 
of  a  very  rigid  sort,  arid  well  provided  with  a  high 
ly  choleric  temperament,  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  ob 
viously  \vas  not  the  sort  of  person  whom  any  intelli 
gent  ward  would  have  selected  for  a  guardian.  And 
equally  true  is  it  that  Miss  Dorothy  Lee,  thus  thrust 
by  Fate  into  his  by  no  means  out-stretched  arms, 
was  far  from  being  the  sort  of  young  woman  whom 
even  an  uncle  writh  strongly  developed  guardianly 
instincts  would  have  selected  to  practise  upon  as  a 
ward.  There  was  a  certain  squareness  about  Dor 
othy's  admirably  dimpled  chin  that  suggested  for 
cibly  (at  least  to  a  person  cool  enough  not  to  be  af 
fected  by  the  dimples)  a  temperament  strongly  in 
clining  towards  the  positive ;  and  it  was  a  matter 
of  record  that  when  an  argument  arose  as  to  the 
propriety  of  gratifying  some  desire  lying  close  to 
Dorothy's  heart,  her  singularly  fine  gray  eyes,  es 
pecially  if  the  argument  seemed  to  be  going  against 
her,  wTould  be  lighted  up  by  a  resolute  glitter  quite 
startling  to  contemplate.  In  point  of  fact,  argu 
ments  of  this  nature  had  not  arisen  often  ;  for  the 
late  Mrs.  Lee  had  been  a  peace-at-any-price  sort  of 
person,  and  for  several  years  preceding  her  depart 
ure  for  another  and  a  better  world  had  suffered  her 


10  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL. 

maternal  prerogatives  to  remain  entirely  in  abey 
ance. 

"  Poor  dear  mamma  and  I  did  not  have  a  harsh 
word  for  years,  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  Miss  Lee  ex 
plained,  in  the  course  of  the  somewhat  animated 
discussion  that  arose  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Port's 
declaration  that  a  part  of  their  summer  would  be 
passed,  in  accordance  with  his  usual  custom,  at  the 
White  Sulphur,  and  of  Dorothy's  declaration  that 
she  did  not  want  to  go  there.  This,  her  first  sum 
mer  in  America,  was  the  third  summer  after  Mrs. 
Lee's  translation  ;  and  since  Dorothy  had  come  into 
colors  again  she  naturally  wanted  to  make  the  most 
of  them.  "  No,  not  a  single  harsh  word  did  we  ever 
have.  We  always  agreed  perfectly,  you  know  ;  or 
if  mamma  thought  differently  at  first  she  always 
ended  by  seeing  that  my  view  of  the  matter  was 
the  right  one.  The  only  serious  difference  that  I 
remember  since  I  was  quite  a  little  girl  was  that  last 
autumn  in  Paris  ;  when  I  had  everything  so  perfect 
ly  arranged  for  a  delightful  winter  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and  when  mamma  was  completely  set  in  her  own 
mind  that  we  must  go  to  the  south  of  France.  Her 
cough  was  getting  very  bad  then,  you  know,  and 
she  said  that  a  winter  in  Russia  certainly  would  kill 
her.  I  don't  think  it  would  have  killed  her,  at  least 
not  especially  ;  but  the  doctor  backed  mamma  up — 
and  said  some  horrid  things  to  me  in  his  polite 
French  way — and  declared  that  St.  Petersburg  was 
not  even  to  be  thought  of. 

"And   so,   when   I   found   that   they   were   both 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL.  11 

against  me  that  way,  of  course  I  sacrificed  my  own 
feelings  and  told  mamma  that  I  would  do  just  what 
she  wanted.  And  mamma  cried  and  kissed  me,  and 
said  that  I  was  an  angel :  wasn't  it  sweet  of  her?  To 
be  sure,  though,  she  was  having  her  own  way,  and  I 
wasn't ;  and  I  think  that  I  was  an  angel  myself,  for 
I  did  want  to  go  to  Russia  dreadfully.  After  all, 
as  things  turned  out,  we  might  almost  as  well  have 
gone  ;  for  poor  dear  mamma,  you  know,  died  that 
winter  anyway.  But  I'm  glad  I  did  what  I  could  to 
please  her,  and  that  she  called  me  an  angel  for  doing 
it.  Don't  you  think  that  I  was  one?  And  don't 
you  feel,  sir,  that  it  is  something  of  an  honor  to  be 
an  angel's  uncle? 

"  Now  suppose  I  kiss  you  right  on  your  dear  little 
bald  spot,  and  that  we  make  up  our  minds  not  to  go 
to  that  horrid  sulphur  place  at  all.  Everybody  says 
that  it  is  old-fashioned  and  stupid  ;  and  that  is  not 
the  kind  of  an  American  watering-place  that  I  want 
to  see,  you  know.  It  would  have  been  all  very  well 
if  we'd  gone  there  while  I  was  in  mourning,  and  had 
to  be  proper  and  quiet  and  retired,  and  all  that ;  but 
I'm  not  in  mourning  any  longer,  Uncle  Hutchinson 
— and  you  haven't  said  yet  how  you  like  this  break 
fast  gown.  Do  you  have  to  be  told  that  white  lace 
over  pale-blue  silk  is  very  becoming  to  your  angel 
niece,  Uncle  Hutchinson?  And  now  you  shall  have 
your  kiss,  and  then  the  matter  will  be  settled." 
With  which  words  Miss  Lee  —  a  somewhat  bewil 
dering  but  unquestionably  delightful  effect  in  blond 
and  blue — fluttered  up  to  her  elderly  relative,  em- 


12  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

braced  him  with  a  graceful  energy,  and  bestowed 
upon  his  bald  spot  the  promised  kiss. 

"  But — but  indeed,  my  dear,"  responded  Mr.  Port, 
when  he  had  emerged  from  Miss  Lee's  enfolding 
arms,  "you  know  that  going  to  the  White  Sulphur 
is  not  a  mere  matter  of  pleasure  with  me  ;  it  is  one 
of  hygienic  necessity.  You  forget,  Dorothy  " — Mr. 
Port  spoke  with  a  most  earnest  seriousness — "you 
forget  my  liver." 

"  ISTow,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  what  is  the  use  of  talk 
ing  about  your  liver  that  way?  Haven't  you  told 
me  a  great  many  times  already  that  it  is  an  hereditary 
liver,  and  that  nothing  you  can  do  to  it  ever  will 
make  it  go  right?  And  if  it  is  bound  to  go  wrong 
anyway,  why  can't  you  just  try  to  forget  all  about 
it  and  have  as  pleasant  a  time  as  possible?  That's 
the  doctrine  that  I  always  preached  to  poor  dear 
mamma — she  had  an  hereditary  liver  too,  you  know 
— and  it's  a  very  good  one. 

"  Anyhow,  I've  heard  mamma  say  countless  times 
that  Saratoga  was  a  wonderfully  good  place  for 
livers;  now* why  can't  we  go  there?  Mamma  al 
ways  said  that  Saratoga  was  simply  delightful — 
horse-racing  going  on  all  the  time,  and  lovely  drives, 
and  rowing  on  the  lake,  and  dancing  all  night  long, 
and  all  sorts  of  lovely  things.  Let's  go  to  Sarato 
ga,  Uncle  Hutchinson !  Mamma  said  that  the  food 
there  was  delicious — and  you  know  you  always  are 
grumbling  about  the  food  those  sulphur  people  give 
you. 

"  But  what  really  Avould  be  best  of  all  for  you, 


"  Now  suppose  I  kixs  you  riylit  on  i/our  dear  little  bald  .<.y/o^." 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AX   ANGEL.  15 

Uncle  Hutchinson,"  Miss  Lee  continued,  with  in 
creasing  animation,- "is  Carlsbad.  Yes,  that's  what 
you  really  want  —  and  while  you  are  drinking  the 
horrid  waters  I  can  be  having  a  nice  time,  you  know. 
Then,  when  you  have  finished  your  course,  we  can 
take  a  run  into  Switzerland  ;  and  after  that,  in  the 
autumn,  we  might  go  over  to  Vienna — you  will  be 
delighted  with  the  Vienna  restaurants,  and  they  do 
have  such  good  white  wines  there.  And  then,  from 
Vienna,  we  really  can  go  on  and  have  a  winter  in 
Russia.  Just  think  how  perfectly  delightful  it  will 
be  to  drive  about  in  sledges,  all  wrapped  up  in  furs" 
— Mr.  Port  shuddered  ;  he  detested  cold  weather — 
"and  to  go  to  the  court  balls,  and  even,  perhaps,  to 
be  present  the  next  time  they  assassinate  the  Czar ! 
Oh,  what  a  good  time  we  are  going  to  have  !  Do 
write  at  once,  this  very  day,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  to 
Carlsbad  and  engage  our  rooms." 

To  a  person  of  Mr.  Port's  staid,  deliberate  tempera 
ment  this  rapid  outlining  of  a  year  of  foreign  travel, 
and  this  prompt  assumption  that  the  outline  was  to 
be  immediately  filled  in  and  made  a  reality,  was  up 
setting.  His  mental  processes  were  of  the  Philadel 
phia  sort,  and  when  Miss  Lee  had  completed  the 
sketch  of  her  European  project  he  still  was  engaged 
in  consideration  of  her  argument  in  favor  of  throw 
ing  over  the  White  Sulphur  for  Saratoga.  How 
ever,  he  had  comprehended  enough  of  her  larger 
plan  to  perceive  that  by  accepting  Saratoga  prompt 
ly  he  might  be  spared  the  necessity  of  combating  a 
far  more  serious  assault  upon  his  peace  of  mind  and 


16  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

digestion.  Travel  of  any  sort  was  loathsome  to 
Mr.  Port,  for  it  involved  much  hasty  and  inconsider 
ate  eating. 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  but  not  cheerfully,  for  this 
was  the  first  time  in  a  great  many  years  that  he  had 
not  made  and  acted  upon  plans  shaped  wholly  in  his 
own  interest,  "we  will  try  Saratoga,  since  you  so 
especially  desire  it ;  but  if  the  waters  affect  my 
liver  unfavorably  we  shall  go  to  the  White  Sulphur 
at  once." 

"  What !  We  are  not  to  go  to  Carlsbad,  then  ? 
Oh,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  I  had  set  my  heart  upon  it ! 
Don't,  now  don't  be  in  a  hurry  to  say  positively  that 
we  won't  go.  Think  how  much  good  the  waters 
will  dt>  you,  and  think  of  what  a  lovely  time  you 
can  have  when  your  course  is  over,  and  you  can  eat 
just  as  much  as  you  want  of  anything  !" 

But  even  by  this  blissful  prospect  Mr.  Port  was 
not  to  be  lured  ;  and  Dorothy,  who  combined  a  good 
deal  of  the  wisdom  of  the  serpent  with  her  presum 
able  innocence  of  the  dove,  perceived  that  it  was  the 
part  of  prudence  not  further  to  press  for  larger  vic 
tory. 

"And  from  Saratoga,  of  course,  we  shall  go  to 
the  Pier,"  said  Mr.  Port,  but  with  a  certain  aggress 
iveness  of  tone  that  gave  to  his  assertion  the  air  of 
a  proposition  in  support  of  which  argument  might 
be  required. 

"To  Narragansett,  you  mean?  Oh,  certainly. 
From  what  several  people  have  told  me  about  Nar 
ragansett  I  think  that  it  must  be  quite  entertaining, 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  17 

and  I  want  to  see  it.  And  of  course,  Uncle  Hutch- 
inson,  even  if  I  didn't  care  about  it  at  all,  I  should 
go  all  the  same  ;  for  I  want  to  fall  in  exactly  with 
your  plans  and  put  you  to  as  little  trouble  as  possi 
ble,  you  know.  For  if  your  angel  wasn't  willing  to 
be  self-sacrificing,  she  really  wouldn't  be  an  angel 
at  all." 

Pleasing  though  this  statement  of  Early  Christian 
sentiment  was,  it  struck  Mr.  Port — as  he  subsequent 
ly  revolved  it  slowly  in  his  slowly-moving  mind — as 
lacking  a  little  on  the  side  of  practicality ;  for  Miss 
Lee,  so  far,  unquestionably  had  contrived  to  upset 
with  a  fine  equanimity  every  one  of  his  plans  that 
was  not  absolutely  identical  with  her  own. 


III. 


On  the  whole,  the  Saratoga  expedition  was  not  a 
success.  Even  on  the  journey,  coming  up  by  the 
limited  train,  Miss  Lee  was  not  favorably  impressed 
by  the  appearance  of  her  fellow-passengers.  Nearly 
all  of  the  men  in  the  car  (most  of  whom  immediate 
ly  betook  themselves  to  the  bar-room,  euphoniously 
styled  a  buffet,  at  the  head  of  the  train)  were  of  a 
type  that  would  have  suggested  to  one  accustomed 
to  American  life  that  variety  of  it  which  is  found 
seated  in  the  high  places  of  the  government  of  the 
city  of  New  York  ;  and  the  aggressively  dressed  and 
too  abundantly  jewelled  female  companions  of  these 


18  THE    UNCLE    OF    AX   ANGEL. 

men,  heavily  built,  heavy  browed,  with  faces  marked 
in  hard  lines,  and  with  aggressive  eyes  schooled  to 
look  out  upon  the  world  with  a  necessarily  emphatic 
self-assertion,  were  of  a  type  that,  without  special 
knowledge  of  American  ways,  was  entirely  recog 
nizable.  Albeit  Miss  Lee,  having  spent  much  time 
in  the  mixed  society  of  various  European  watering- 
places,  was  not  by  any  means  an  unsophisticated 
young  person,  and  was  not  at  all  a  squeamish  one, 
she  was  sensibly  relieved  by  finding  that  the  chair 
next  to  hers  was  occupied  by  a  silvery-haired  old 
lady  of  the  most  unquestionable  respectability ; 
and  her  composure  was  further  restored,  presently, 
by  the  return  to  his  chair,  on  the  other  side  of  her 
of  Mr.  Port :  who  had  betaken  himself  to  what  the 
conductor  had  told  him  was  the  smoking-room,  and 
who,  finding  himself  in  a  bar-room,  surrounded  by 
a  throng  of  hard-drinking,  foul-mouthed  men,  had 
sacrificed  his  much-loved  cigar  in  order  to  free  him 
self  from  such  distinctly  offensive  surroundings. 

At  their  hotel,  and  elsewhere,  Miss  Lee  and  her 
uncle  encountered  many  of  their  fellow-passengers 
by  the  limited  train,  together  with  others  of  a  like 
sort  which  previous  trains  had  brought  thither ;  and 
while,  on  the  whole,  these  were  about  balanced  by 
a  more  desirable  class  of  visitors,  they  were  in  such 
force  as  to  give  to  the  life  of  the  place  a  very  posi 
tive  tone. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Dorothy  avowed  herself 
disappointed.  "  I  never  did  think  much  of  poor 
dear  mamma's  taste,  you  know,  Uncle  Hutchinson," 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  19 

she  said,  with  her  customary  frankness,  "  and  what 
she  found  to  like  in  this  place  I'm  sure  I  can't  imag 
ine.  It's  tawdry  and  it's  vulgar ;  and  as  for  its 
morals,  I  think  that  it's  worse  than  Monte  Carlo.  I 
suppose  that  there  is  a  nice  side  to  it,  for  I  do  see 
a  few  nice  people ;  but,  somehow,  they  all  seem  to 
stand  off  from  each  other  as  though  they  were  afraid 
here  to  take  any  chances  at  all  with  strangers.  And 
I  don't  blame  them,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  for  I  feel 
just  that  way  myself.  What  you  ought  to  have 
done  was  to  have  hired  a  cottage,  and  then  people 
would  have  taken  the  trouble  to  find  out  about  us ; 
and  when  they'd  found  that  we  were  not  all  sorts  of 
horrid  things  we  should  have  got  into  the  right  set, 
and  no  doubt,  at  least  if  we'd  stayed  here  through 
August,  we  should  have  had  a  very  nice  time. 

"But  we're  not  having  a  nice  time,  here  at  this 
noisy  hotel,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  where  the  band  can't 
keep  quiet  for  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  where  the 
only  notion  that  people  seem  to  have  of  amusement 
is  to  overdress  themselves  and  wear  diamonds  to 
dinner  and  sit  in  crowds  on  the  verandas  and  dance 
at  night  with  any  stranger  who  can  get  another 
stranger  to  introduce  him  and  to  drive  over  on  fine 
afternoons  to  that  place  by  the  lake  and  drink 
mixed  drinks  until  some  of  them  actually  get  tipsy. 
I  really  think  that  it  all  is  positively  horrid.  And  so 
I'm  quite  willing  now  to  go  to  the  White  Sulphur. 
It  is  stupid,  I  know,  but  I've  always  heard  that  it  is 
intensely  respectable.  I  will  get  my  packing  all 
done  this  afternoon,  and  we  will  start  to-morrow 


20  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

morning ;  and  I  think  that  you'd  better  go  and  tele 
graph  for  rooms  right  away." 

But  to  Dorothy's  surprise,  and  also  to  her  chagrin, 
Mr.  Port  refused  to  entertain  her  proposition.  He 
fully  agreed  with  her  in  her  derogatory  estimate  of 
Saratoga  life  as  found  at  Saratoga  hotels ;  and  he 
cherished  also  a  private  grief  incident  to  his  (mis 
taken)  belief  that  the  cooking  was  not  so  good  as 
he  remembered  it,  bright  in  the  glamour  of  his  sound 
digestion  in  his  youthful  past.  On  the  other  hand, 
however,  the  waters  certainly  were  having  a  most 
salutary  effect  upon  his  liver ;  and  the  move  to 
Virginia  would  involve  spending  two  days  of  hot 
weather  in  toilsome  travel,  sustained  only  by  such 
food  as  railway  restaurants  afford.  Therefore  Mr. 
Port  declared  decidedly  that  until  the  end  of  July 
they  would  remain  where  they  were — and  so  gave 
his  niece  the  doubtful  pleasure  of  an  entirely  new 
experience  by  compelling  her  to  do  something  that 
she  did  not  want  to  do  at  all.  It  was  a  comfort  to 
Mr.  Port,  in  later  years,  to  remember  that  he  had 
got  ahead  of  Dorothy  once,  anyhow. 

Being  a  very  charming  young  person,  Miss  Lee 
could  not,  of  course,  be  grumpy ;  yet  grumpiness 
certainly  would  have  been  the  proper  word  with 
which  to  describe  her  mood  during  her  last  fort 
night  at  Saratoga  had  she  not  possessed  such  ex 
traordinarily  fine  gray  eyes  and  such  an  admirably 
dimpled  chin.  The  fact  must  be  admitted  that  she 
contrived  to  make  her  uncle's  life  so  much  of  a  bur 
den  to  him  that  his  staying  powers  were  strained 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  21 

to  the  utmost.  Indeed,  he  admitted  to  himself  that 
he  could  not  have  held  out  against  such  tactics  for 
another  week ;  and  he  perceived  that  he  had  done 
injustice  to  his  departed  sister  in  thinking — as  he 
certainly  had  thought,  and  even  had  expressed  on 
more  than  one  occasion  in  writing — that  in  permit 
ting  her  European  movements  to  be  shaped  in  ac 
cordance  with  her  daughter's  fancies  she  had  ex 
hibited  an  inexcusable  weakness. 

It  was  a  relief  to  Mr.  Port's  mind,  and  also  to  his 
digestion  —  for  Dorothy's  grumpiness  produced  an 
effect  distinctly  bilious — when  the  end  of  July  ar 
rived  and  his  own  and  his  charming  ward's  views 
once  more  were  brought  into  harmony  by  the  move 
to  Narrangansett  Pier.  Fortunately,  while  somewhat 
disposed  to  stand  upon  her  own  rights,  Miss  Lee 
was  not  a  person  who  bore  malice ;  a  pleasing  fact 
that  became  manifest  on  the  moment  that  she  be 
gan  to  pack  her  trunks. 

"I  am  afraid,  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  she  observed, 
on  the  morning  that  this  important  step  towards 
departure  was  taken — "  I  am  afraid  that  daring  the 
past  week  or  so  your  angel  may  not  have  been  quite 
as  much  of  an  angel  as  usual." 

"No,"  replied  Mr.  Port,  with  a  colloquial  disre 
gard  of  grammatical  construction,  and  with  perhaps 
unnecessary  emphasis,  "  I  don't  think  she  has." 

"But  from  this  moment  onward,"  Dorothy  con 
tinued,  courteously  ignoring  her  uncle's  not  too 
courteous  interpolation,  and  airily  relegating  into 
oblivion  the  recent  past,  "she  expects  to  manifest 


22  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

her  angelic  qualities  to  an  extent  that  will  make 
her  appear  unfit  for  earth.  Very  possibly  she  may 
even  grow  a  pair  of  wings  and  fly  quite  away  from 
you,  sir — right  up  among  the  clouds,  where  the  other 
angels  are !  And  how  would  you  like  that,  Uncle 
Hutchinson?" 

In  the  sincere  seclusion  of  his  inner  consciousness 
Mr.  Port  admitted  the  thought  that  if  Dorothy  had 
resolved  herself  into  an  angelic  vol-au-vent  (a  simile 
that  came  naturally  to  his  mind)  at  any  time  dur 
ing  the  preceding  fortnight  he  probably  would  have 
accepted  the  situation  with  a  commendable  equa 
nimity.  But  what  he  actually  said  was  that  her  de 
parture  in  this  aerated  fashion  would  make  him  pro 
foundly  miserable.  Mr.  Port  was  a  little  astonished 
at  himself  when  he  was  delivered  of  this  gallant 
speech ;  for  gallant  speeches,  as  he  very  well  knew, 
were  not  at  all  in  his  line. 

On  the  amicable  basis  thus  established,  Miss  Lee 
and  her  guardian  resumed  their  travels ;  and,  ex 
cepting  only  Mr.  Port's  personal  misery  incident  to 
the  alimentary  exigencies  of  railway  transportation, 
their  journey  from  the  central  region  of  New  York 
to  the  seaboard  of  Rhode  Island  was  accomplished 
without  misadventure. 


THE   UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  23 


IV. 


Ill  regard  to  Narragansett  Pier,  Miss  Lee's  opin 
ions,  the  which  she  was  neither  slow  in  forming  nor 
unduly  cautious  in  expressing,  at  first  were  unfavor 
able. 

"And  so  this  is  f  the  Pier,'  is  it?"  she  observed  in 
a  tone  by  no  means  expressive  of  approval  as  she 
stood  on  the  hotel  veranda  on  the  day  of  her  arrival, 
and  contemplated  the  rather  limited  prospect  that 
was  bounded  at  one  end  by  the  Casino  and  at  the 
other  by  the  coal- elevator.  "If-  those  smelly  little 
stones  out  there  are  'the  Rocks'  that  people  talk 
about  at  such  a  rate  I  must  confess  that  I  am  dis 
appointed  in  them" — Mr.  Port  hastened  to  assure 
her  that  the  Rocks  were  in  quite  a  different  direc 
tion — "  and  if  that  is  the  Casino,  while  it  seems  a 
nice  sort  of  a  place,  I  really  think  that  they  might 
have  managed  the  arch  so  as  not  to  have  that  hor 
rid  green  house  showing  under  it.  And  what  little 
poor  affairs  the  hotels  are  !  Really,  Uncle  Hutchin- 
son,  I  don't  see  what  there  is  in  this  little  place  to 
make  such  a  fuss  about." 

"Dorothy,"  replied  Mr.  Port,  with  much  solem 
nity,  "  you  evidently  forget — though  I  certainly  have 
mentioned  the  fact  to  you  repeatedly- — that  the  cli 
mate  of  this  portion  of  Rhode  Island  is  the  most 


24  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

distinctively  antibilious  climate  to  be  found  upon 
the  whole  coast  of  North  America.  For  persons 
possessing  delicate  livers — " 

"  Oh,  bother  delicate  livers — at  least,  I  beg  your 
pardon,  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  for  an  expression  of 
such  positive  pain  had  come  into  Mr.  Port's  face  at 
this  irreverent  reference  to  an  organ  that  he  regard 
ed  as  sacred  that  even  Dorothy  was  forced  to  make 
some  sort  of  an  apology.  "  Of  course  I  don't  want 
to  bother  your  poor  liver  more  than  it  is  bothered 
anyway ;  but,  you  know,  I  haven't  got  a  liver,  and 
I  don't  care  for  climates  a  bit.  What  I  mean  is  : 
what  do  people  do  here  to  have  a  good  time?" 

"In  the  morning,"  replied  Mr.  Port, "they  bathe, 
and  in  the  afternoon  they  drive  to  the  Point.  This 
morning  we  shall  "bathe,  Dorothy — bathing  is  an 
admirable  liver  tonic — and  this  afternoon  we  shall 
drive  to  the  Point." 

"  Good  heavens  !  Is  that  all  ?"  exclaimed  Miss 
Lee.  "Why,  it's  worse  than  Saratoga.  Do  you 
mean  to  say,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  that  people  don't 
dance  here,  and  don't  go  yachting,  and  don't  have 
lunch-parties,  and  don't  play  tennis,  and  don't  even 
have  afternoon  teas?" 

"I  believe  that  some  of  these  things  are  done 
here,"  replied  Mr.  Port,  in  a  tone  that  implied  that 
such  frivolities  were  quite  beyond  the  lines  of  his 
own  personal  interests.  "Yes,"  he  continued,  "  I  am 
sure  that  all  of  them  are  done  here  now  —  for  the 
Pier  is  not  what  it  used  to  be,  Dorothy.  The  quiet 
air  of  intense  respectability  that  characterized  Nar- 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  25 

ragansett  when  it  was  the  resort  only  of  a  few  of 
the  best  families  of  Philadelphia  has  departed  from 
it — I  fear  forever  !  But,  thank  Heaven,  its  climatic 
characteristics  remain  intact.  When  you  are  older, 
Dorothy,  and  your  liver  asserts  itself,  you  will  appre 
ciate  this  incomparable  climate  at  its  proper  value." 

"  Well,  it  hasn't  asserted  itself  yet,  you  know  ;  and 
I  must  say  I'm  devoutly  thankful  that  something 
has  happened  to  wake  up  the  quiet  and  intense 
ly  respectable  Philadelphians  before  I  had  to  come 
here.  But  I'm  very  glad,  dear  Uncle  Hutchinson," 
Miss  Lee  continued,  winningly,  "  that  this  climate 
is  so  good  for  you,  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  that  you 
won't  have  a  single  bilious  attack  all  the  time  that 
you  are  here.  And  you'll  take  your  angel  to  the 
dances,  and  to  see  the  tennis,  and  you'll  give  her 
lunch -parties,  and  you'll  take  her  yachting,  won't 
you,  you  dear?  But  I  know  you  will;  and  if  this 
were  not  such  a  very  conspicuous  place,  and  might 
make  a  scandal,  I'd  give  you  a  very  sweet  kiss  to  pay 
you  in  advance  for  all  the  trouble  that  you  are  go 
ing  to  take  to  make  your  angel  enjoy  herself.  You 
needn't  bother  about  the  teas,  Uncle  Hutchinson — 
for  the  most  part  they're  only  women,  and  stupid." 

Being  still  somewhat  cast  down  by  painful  mem 
ories  of  that  trying  final  fortnight  in  Saratoga,  dur 
ing  which  he  and  his  niece  had  pulled  so  strongly 
in  opposite  directions,  Mr.  Port  heard  with  a  lively 
alarm  this  declaration  of  a  plan  of  campaign  which, 
if  carried  out,  would  wreck  hopelessly  his  own  com 
fort  of  body  and  peace  of  mind.  Obviously,  this 


26  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL, 

was  no  time  for  faltering.  If  the  catastrophe  was 
to  be  averted,  he  must  speak  out  at  once  and  with 
a  decisive  energy. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you,  Dorothy,"  he  began,  speak 
ing  in  a  most  grave  and  earnest  tone,  "  that  it  is  my 
desire  to  discharge  in  the  amplest  and  kindest  man 
ner  my  duties  towards  you  as  a  guardian — " 

"  I'm  sure  of  it,  and  of  course  you  needn't  tell 
me,  you  dearest  dear  —  and  we  might  begin  with 
just  a  little  lunch  to-day.  The  breakfast  was  horrid, 
and  I  didn't  get  half  enough  even  of  what  there  was." 

"  But  I  must  say  now,"  Mr.  Port  went  on — keen 
ly  regretting  the  unfortunate  beginning  that  he  had 
given  to  his  declaration  of  independence,  but  judi 
ciously  ignoring  Dorothy's  shrewd  perversion  of  it 
— "that  your  several  suggestions  literally  are  impos 
sibilities.  I  admit  that  dancing  for  a  short  period, 
at  about  an  hour  after  each  meal,  is  an  admirable 
exercise  that  produces  a  most  salutary  effect  upon 
the  digestive  apparatus  ;  but  persistent  dancing  until 
an  unduly  late  period  of  the  night  is  a  practice  as 
unhygienic  as,  in  the  mixed  company  of  a  watering- 
place,  it  is  socially  objectionable. 

"  Tennis  is  an  absurdity  worthy  of  the  vacuous 
minds  of  those  who  engage  in  it.  To  suggest  that 
I  shall  sit  in  a  cramped  position  in  a  draughty  gal 
lery  for  several  hours  at  a  stretch  in  order  to  watch 
empty-headed  young  men  playing  a  perverted  form 
of  battledoor  and  shuttlecock  across  a  net,  is  to  im 
ply  that  they  and  I  are  upon  the  same  intellectual 
level ;  and  this,  I  trust,  is  not  the  case. 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  27 

a  As  you  certainly  should  remember,  Dorothy,  all 
persons  of  a  bilious  habit  suffer  severely  from  sea 
sickness  ;  a  fact  that,  of  course,  disposes  effectually 
of  your  yachting  plans.  For  you  are  not  desirous, 
I  am  sure,  of  purchasing  your  own  selfish  enjoyment 
— if  you  possibly  can  have  enjoyment  on  board  a 
yacht — at  the  cost  of  my  intense  personal  misery. 

"  But  in  regard  to  the  lunches,  my  dear " — Mr. 
Port's  tone  softened  perceptibly — "there  certainly 
is  something  to  be  said.  The  food  here  at  the  hotel, 
I  admit,  is  atrocious,  and  at  the  Casino  it  is  possible 
occasionally  to  procure  something  eatable.  Yes,  I 
shall  have  much  pleasure  in>  giving  a  lunch  this  very 
morning  to  my  angel "  (Mr.  Port,  warming  in  ad 
vance  under  the  genial  influence  of  the  croquette 
and  salad  that  he  intended  to  order,  became  play 
ful),  "for  what  you  said  in  regard  to  the  breakfast, 
Dorothy,  was  quite  true  —  it  was  abominable.  If 
you  will  excuse  me,  I  will  just  step  down  to  the 
Casino  now  and  give  my  order  ;  then  things  will  be 
all  ready  for  us  when  wre  get  back  from  the  bath." 

And  such  was  Miss  Lee's  generalship  that  she 
rested  content  with  her  success  in  one  direction,  and 
deferred  until  a  more  convenient  season  her  further 
demands.  She  was  a  reasonable  young  woman,  and 
was  quite  satisfied  with  accomplishing  one  thing  at 
a  time. 


28  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL. 


V. 


Two  or  three  days  later  Dorothy  advanced  her 
second  parallel.  In  the  interval  they  had  bathed 
every  morning  and  had  driven  to  the  Point  every 
afternoon,  and  they  had  held  converse  upon  the 
veranda  of  the  hotel  every  evening  until  ten  o'clock 
with  certain  eminently  respectable  people  from  Phil 
adelphia,  by  whom  Dorothy  was  bored,  as  she  did 
not  hesitate  to  confess,  almost  to  desperation.  Fur 
ther,  Mr.  Port  had  given  a  lunch -party  to  which 
these  same  Philadelphians  were  invited;  and  his 
niece  had  informed  him,  when  the  festivity  was  at 
an  end,  that  if  he  did  anything  like  that  again  she 
certainly  would  either  run  away  or  drown  herself. 
Any  trials  in  this  world  or  any  dangers  in  the  next, 
she  declared,  were  preferable  to  sitting  opposite  to 
such  a  person  as  Mrs.  Logan  Rittenhouse,  wTho  talk 
ed  nothing  but  uninteresting  scandal  and  crochet, 
and  next  to  Mr.  Pennington  Brown,  who  talked  only 
about  peoples'  great-grandfathers  and  great-aunts. 

It  was  with  a  lively  alarm  that  Mr.  Port  noted 
these  signs  of  discontent,  together  with  returning 
symptoms  of  the  grumpiness  which  had  disturbed 
his  comfort  and  digestion  at  Saratoga ;  and  it  was 
most  selfishly  in  his  own  self-interest  that  he  tried 
to  think  of  something  that  would  afford  his  niece 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  29 

amusement.  Miss  Lee,  when  she  perceived  that  her 
intelligently  laid  plans  were  working  successfully, 
was  graciously  pleased  to  assist  him. 

"  It  is  a  great  pity,  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  she  vouch 
safed  to  remark  on  the  fourth  day  of  suppressed  do 
mestic  sunshine,  "  that  you  don't  like  tennis.  Don't 
you  think,  for  your  angel's  sake,  that  you  could  go 
for  just  a  little  while  this  afternoon?  There's  going 
to  be  a  capital  match  this  afternoon,  and  your  angel 
does  so  want  to  see  it.  You  haven't  been  very — 
very  agreeable  the  past  two  or  three  days,  you  dear, 
and  I  fear  that  your  liver  must  be  a  little  out  of 
order.  Really,  you  haven't  given  your  angel  a  sin 
gle  chance  to  be  affectionate — and  unless  she  can  be 
affectionate  and  s\veet  and  clinging,  and  things  like 
that,  you  know,  your  poor  angel  is  not  happy  at  all. 
Suppose  we  try  the  tennis  for  just  half  an  hour  or 
so?  It  won't  be  much  of  a  sacrifice  for  you,  and  it 
will  make  your  angel  so  happy  that  she  will  make 
herself  dearer  to  you  than  ever,  you  precious  thing." 

This  form  of  address  was  disconcerting  to  Mr. 
Port,  for  during  the  period  to  which  Miss  Lee  re 
ferred  he  certainly  had  been  trying — not  very  clever 
ly,  perhaps,  for  such  efforts  were  not  at  all  in  his 
line,  but  still  to  the  best  of  his  ability  —  to  make 
himself  as  agreeable  as  possible;  and  the  effort  on 
the  part  of  his  niece  to  be  angelic,  of  which  she 
spoke  so  confidently,  he  could  not  but  think  had 
fallen  rather  more  than  a  little  short  of  absolute 
success.  The  one  ray  of  comfort  that  he  extracted 
from  Dorothy's  utterance  was  her  reference  to  her- 


30  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL. 

self  as  his  angel ;  he  had  come  to  understand  that 
the  use  of  this  term  was  a  sign  of  fair  weather,  and 
he  valued  it  accordingly.  But  even  for  the  sake  of 
fair  weather  Mr.  Port  was  not  yet  prepared  to  ex 
pose  his  elderly  joints  to  the  draughty  discomforts 
of  the  galleries  overhanging  the  tennis-court ;  and 
he  said  so,  pretty  decidedly.  Almost  anything  else 
he  was  willing  to  do,  he  added,  but  that  particular 
thing  he  would  not  do  at  all. 

"  As  you  please,  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  Dorothy  an 
swered,  in  a  tone  of  gloomy  resignation.  "I  am 
used  to  hearing  that.  It  is  just  what  poor  dear 
mamma  used  to  say.  She  always  was  willing,  you 
know,  to  do  everything  but  the  thing  that  I  wanted 
her  to  do.  I  remember,  just  to  mention  a  single 
instance,  how  mamma  broke  up  a  delightful  water 
party  on  Windermere  that  Sir  Gordon  Graham  had 
arranged  expressly  for  us.  The  weather  was  rather 
misty,  as  it  is  apt  to  be  up  there,  you  know,  but 
nothing  worth  minding  when  you  are  well  wrapped 
up.  But  mamma  said  that  if  she  went  out  in  such 
a  drizzle  she  knew  her  cough  would  be  ever  so  much 
worse — and  of  course  she  couldn't  really  know  that 
it  would  be  worse,  for  nobody  truly  knows  what  the 
weather  is  going  to  do  to  them — and  so  she  wouldn't 
go.  And  Sir  Gordon  was  very  much  hurt  about 
it,  and  never  came  near  us  again.  And  unless  I'm 
very  much  mistaken,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  mamma's 
selfishness  that  day  lost  me  the  chance  of  being 
Lady  Graham.  So  I'm  used  to  being  treated  in  this 
way,  and  you  needn't  at  all  mind  refusing  me  every- 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL.  31 

thing  that  I  ask."  And,  being  delivered  of  this  dis 
course,  Miss  Lee  lapsed  into  a  condition  of  funereal 
gloom. 

At  the  end  of  another  twenty-four  hours  Mr.  Port 
knuckled  under.  "  I  have  been  thinking,  Dorothy," 
he  said,  "  about  what  you  were  saying  about  tennis. 
It's  a  beastly  game,  but  since  you  insist  upon  seeing 
it  I'll  take  you  for  a  little  while  this  afternoon." 
This  was  not  the  most  gracious  form  of  words  in 
which  an  invitation  could  be  couched ;  but  Doro 
thy,  who  was  not  a  stickler  for  forms  provided  she 
was  successful  in  results,  accepted  it  with  alacrity. 
Later  in  the  day,  as  they  returned  from  the  Casino, 
she  declared : 

"Your  angel  has  had  a  lovely  afternoon,  Uncle 
Hutchinson,  and  she  is  sure  that  you  have  had  a 
lovely  afternoon  too.  And  now  that  you've  found 
what  fun  there  is  in  looking  at  tennis,  we'll  go  every 
day,  won't  we,  dear?  Sometimes,  you  know,  you 
are  just  a  little,  just  a  very  little  prejudiced  about 
things ;  but  you  are  so  good  and  sweet-tempered 
that  your  prejudices  never  last  long,  and  so  your 
angel  cannot  help  loving  you  a  great  deal." 

Mr.  Port,  who  was  not  at  all  sweet-tempered  at 
that  moment,  was  prepared  to  reply  to  the  first  half 
of  this  speech  in  terms  of  some  emphasis  ;  for  he 
was  limping  a  little,  and  a  shocking  twinge  took  him 
in  his  left  shoulder  when  he  attempted  to  raise  his 
arm.  But  Dorothy's  sudden  shifting  to  polite  per 
sonalities  was  of  a  nature  to  choke  off  his  projected 
indignant  utterance.  Yet  not  feeling  by  any  means 


32  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

prepared  to  meet  in  kind  her  pleasing  manifestation 
of  affection,  Mr.  Port  was  a  little  put  to  it  to  find 
any  suitable  form  of  response.  After  a  moment's 
reflection  he  abandoned  the  attempt  to  reply  cohe 
rently,  and  contented  himself  with  grunting. 


VI. 


Encouraged  by  the  success  that  was  attending 
her  unselfish  efforts  to  harmonize  her  own  and  her 
uncle's  conceptions  of  the  temporal  fitness  of  things, 
Miss  Lee  began  to  find  life  at  the  Pier  quite  sup 
portable.  "  There's  not  much  to  do  here,"  she  de 
clared,  with  her  customary  candor,  "  and  the  hotels 
— all  ugly  and  all  in  a  row — make  it  look  like  an 
overgrown  charitable  institution  ;  and  most  of  the 
people,  I  must  say,  are  such  a  dismal  lot  that  they 
might  very  well  be  the  patients  out  for  an  airing. 
But,  on  the  whole,  Pve  been  in  several  worse  places, 
Uncle  Hutchinson  ;  and  if  only  you'd  take  me  to  a 
hop  now  and  then,  instead  of  sitting  every  evening 
on  the  pokey  hotel  veranda  talking  Philadelphia 
twaddle  with  that  stuffy  old  Mr.  Pennington  Brown, 
I  might  have  rather  a  good  time  here." 

"  You  will  oblige  me,  Dorothy,"  replied  Mr.  Port, 
"by  refraining  from  using  such  a  word  as  *  stuffy' 
in  connection  with  a  gentleman  who  belongs  to  one 
of  the  oldest  and  best  families  in  Philadelphia,  and 
who,  moreover,  is  one  of  my  most  esteemed  friends." 


"  -4/M/  before  Mr.  Port  could  rally  Ids  forcts  they  had  entered  the  car 
riage  and  had  driven  away." 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  35 

"  But  he  is  stuffy,  Uncle  Hutchinson.  He  never 
talks  about  anything  but  who  peoples'  grandfathers 
and  grandmothers  were  ;  and  Watson's  Annals  seems 
to  be  the  only  book  that  he  ever  has  heard  of.  In 
deed,  I  do  truly  think  that  he  is  the  very  stuffiest 
and  stupidest  old  gentleman  that  I  ever  have  known." 

Mr.  Port  made  no  reply  to  this  sally,  for  his  feel 
ings  were  such  that  he  deemed  it  best  not  to  give 
expression  to  them  in  words ;  but  he  was  not  unnat 
urally  surprised,  after  such  a  declaration  of  senti 
ments  on  the  part  of  his  niece,  when  she  begged  to 
be  excused  on  the  ensuing  afternoon  from  her  regu 
lar  drive  to  the  Point,  on  the  ground  that  she  had 
promised  to  make  an  expedition  to  the  Rocks  in 
Mr.  Brown's  company.  Had  an  opportunity  been 
given  him  Mr.  Port  would  have  asked  for  an  expla 
nation  of  this  phenomenon  ;  but  the  carriage  was  in 
waiting  that  was  to  convey  his  ward  and  her  extraor 
dinary  companion  to  the  end  of  the  road  at  Indian 
Rock — a  slight  rheumatic  tendency,  that  he  declared 
was  hereditary,  rendering  it  advisable  for  Mr.  Brown 
to  reduce  the  use  of  his  legs  to  a  minimum — and  be 
fore  Mr.  Port  could  rally  his  forces  they  had  entered 
it  and  had  driven  away. 

In  the  evening  Mr.  Port  found  another  surprise 
awaiting  hi  m.  Miss  Lee  presently  retired  from  the  ve 
randa  for  the  avowed  purpose  of  searching  for  a  miss 
ing  fan,  thus  leaving  the  two  gentlemen  together. 

"  What  a  charming  girl  your  niece  is,  Port !"  said 
Mr.  Brown,  as  the  fluttering  train  of  Dorothy's  dress 
disappeared  through  the  door-way. 


36  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL. 

Mr.  Port  evidently  considered  that  this  possibly 
debatable  statement  was  sufficiently  answered  by  a 
grunt,  for  that  was  all  the  answer  he  gave  it. 

Not  permitting  his  enthusiasm  to  be  checked  by 
this  chillingly  dubious  response,  Mr.  Brown  con 
tinued  : 

"  She  certainly  is  one  of  the  most  charming  girls 
I  have  met  in  a  long  time,  Port.  She  is  not  a  bit 
like  the  average  of  young  girls  nowadays.  I  rarely 
have  known  a  young  person  of  either  sex  to  be 
so  genuinely  interested  in  genealogy,  especially  in 
Philadelphia  genealogy ;  and  I  must  say  that  her 
liking  for  antiquarian  matters  generally  is  very  re 
markable.  I  envy  you,  I  really  envy  you,  old  boy, 
the  blessing  of  that  sweet  young  creature's  constant 
companionship." 

"Umpli — do  you?"  was  Mr.  Port's  concise  and 
rather  discouraging  reply. 

"  Indeed  I  do  " — Mr.  Brown  was  too  warm  to  no 
tice  the  cynical  tone  of  his  friend's  rejoinder — "  and 
I  have  been  thinking,  Port,  that  we  are  a  pair  of 
selfish  old  wretches  to  monopolize  every  evening  in 
the  way  that  we  have  been  doing  this  bright  young 
flower.  It  is  a  shame  for  us  to  keep  her  in  our 
stupid  company — though  she  tells  me  that  she  finds 
our  talk  about  old  people  and  old  times  exceedingly 
interesting — instead  of  letting  her  have  a  little  of 
the  young  society  and  a  little  of  the  excitement  and 
pleasure  of  watering-place  life.  Now,  how  would  it 
do  for  us  to  take  her  down  to  the  Casino  to-night  ? 
There  is  to  be  a  hop  to-night,  she  says  ;  at  least,  that 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  39 

is  to  say  " — Mr.  Brown  became  somewhat  confused 
— "  I  heard  somewhere  that  there  is  to  be  a  hop  to 
night,  and  while  that  sort  of  thing  is  pretty  stupid 
for  you  and  me,  it  isn't  a  bit  stupid  for  a  young  and 
pretty  girl  like  her.  So  suppose  we  take  her,  old 
man  ?" 

As  this  amazing  proposition  was  advanced  by  his 
elderly  friend,  Mr.  Port's  anger  and  astonishment 
were  aroused  together ;  and  his  rude  rejoinder  to  it 
was  :  "  Have  you  gone  crazy,  Brown,  or  has  Dorothy 
been  making  a  fool  of  you  ?  Has  she  asked  you  to 
ask  me  to  take  her  to  the  Casino  hop  ?  She  knows 
there  is  no  use  in  talking  to  me  about  it  any  longer." 

"  No,  certainly  not — at  least — that  is  to  say — well, 
no,  not  exactly,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  beginning  his 
sentence  with  an  asperity  and  positiveness  that  some 
how  did  not  hold  out  to  its  end.  "  She  did  say  to 
me,  I  confess,  how  fond  she  was  of  dancing,  and  how 
she  had  refrained  from  saying  much  about  it  to  you  " 
— Mr.  Port  here  interpolated  a  sceptical  snort — "  be 
cause  she  knew  that  taking  her  to  the  Casino  would 
only  bore  you.  And  I  do  think,  Port,  that  keeping 
her  here  with  us  all  the  time  is  grossly  selfish;  and 
if  you  don't  want  to  take  her  to  the  hop  I  hope  you'll 
let  her  go  with  me.  But  what  wre'd  better  do,  old 
man,  is  to  take  her  together — then  we  can  talk  to 
each  other  just  as  well,  at  least  nearly  as  well,  as  we 
can  here,  and  we  can  have  the  comfort  of  knowing 
that  she  is  enjoying  herself  too.  Come,  Hutch ; 
we're  getting  old  and  rusty,  you  and  I,  but  let  us  try 
at  least  to  keep  from  degenerating  into  a  pair  of 


40  THE    UNCLE    OF    AX    ANGEL. 

selfish  old  brutes  with  no  care  for  anybody's  com 
fort  but  our  own." 

Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  might  have  replied  with  a 
fair  amount  of  truth  that  so  far  as  he  himself  was 
concerned  the  degeneration  that  his  friend  referred 
to  as  desirable  to  avoid  already  had  taken  place.  But 
all  of  us  like  most  to  be  credited  with  the  virtues  of 
which  we  have  least,  and  he  therefore  accepted  as 
his  due  Mr.  Brown's  tribute  of  implied  praise.  And 
the  upshot  of  the  matter  was  that  Dorothy,  when  she 
returned  to  the  veranda  again,  was  unaffectedly  sur 
prised  (and  considering  how  carefully  she  had  planned 
her  small  campaign  she  did  it  very  creditably)  by 
discovering  that  her  uncle's  edict  against  the  Casino 
hops  had  been  withdrawn. 


VII. 


Even  Dorothy  was  disposed  to  believe  that  unless 
some  peculiarly  favorable  combination  of  circum 
stances  presented  itself  as  a  basis  for  her  intelligent 
manipulation  her  strong  desire  for  a  yacht  voyage 
must  remain  ungratified ;  for,  now  that  his  liver  was 
decidedly  the  larger  part  of  him,  Mr.  Port  had  a 
fairly  catlike  dread  of  the  sea.  To  be  sure,  Doro 
thy's  character  was  a  resolute  one,  and  her  staying 
powers  were  quite  remarkable ;  but  in  the  matter  of 
venturing  his  bilious  body  upon  the  ocean  she  dis 
covered  that  her  uncle — although  now  reduced  to  a 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AX    ANGEL.  41 

fairly  satisfactory  state  of  submission  in  other  re 
spects — had  a  large  and  powerful  will  of  his  own. 

Fortune,  however,  favors  the  resolute  even  more 
decidedly  than  she  favors  the  brave.  This  fact  Dor 
othy  comprehended  thoroughly,  and  uniformly  acted 
upon.  Each  time  that  even  a  remote  possibility  of 
a  yacht  cruise  presented  itself  she  instantly  brought 
her  batteries  to  bear ;  and,  with  a  nice  understanding 
of  her  uncle's  intellectual  peculiarities,  she  each  time 
treated  the  matter  as  though  it  never  before  had 
been  discussed. 

Therefore  it  was  that  when  Miss  Lee's  eyes  were 
gladdened  one  day — just  as  she  and  her  uncle  were 
about  to  begin  their  lunch  on  the  shady  veranda  of 
the  Casino  —  by  the  sight  of  a  trim  schooner  yacht 
sliding  down  the  wind  from  the  direction  of  New 
port,  the  subject  of  the  cruise  was  revived  with  a  sud 
denness  and  point  that  Mr.  Port  found  highly  discon 
certing.  The  yacht  rounded  to  off  the  Casino,  and 
the  sound  of  a  plunge  and  a  clanking  chain  floated 
across  the  water  as  her  anchor  went  overboard. 

"  Oh,  isn't  she  a  beauty  !"  exclaimed  Dorothy, 
with  enthusiasm.  "Now,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  her 
owner  is  coming  ashore — they  have  just  brought  the 
gig  round  to  the  gangway —  and  if  you  don't  know 
him  you  must  get  somebody  to  introduce  you  to 
him;  and  then  you  must  introduce  him  to  me;  and 
then  he  will  ask  us  to  go  on  a  cruise;  and  of  course 
we  will  go,  and  have  just  the  loveliest  time  in  the 
world.  I  haven't  been  on  board  a  yacht  for  nearly 
five  years  (just  look  at  the  gig:  don't  the  men  pull 
3 


42  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL. 

splendidly?) — not  since  that  nice  little  Lord  Alder- 
hone  took  poor  dear  mamma  and  me  up  to  Norway. 
We  did  have  such  a  good  time !  Poor  dear  mamma, 
of  course,  was  desperately  sick — she  always  was  hor 
ribly  sea-sick,  you  know;  but  I'm  never  sea-sick  the 
least  bit,  and  it  was  perfectly  delightful.  Look,  Un 
cle  Hutchinson,  they've  made  the  dock,  and  now  he's 
coming  right  up  here.  What  a  handsome  man  he 
is,  and  how  well  he  looks  in  his  club  uniform !  It 
seems  to  me  I've  seen  him  somewhere.  Do  you 
know  him,  Uncle  Hutchinson  ?" 

A  serious  difficulty  under  which  Mr.  Port  labored 
in  his  dealings  with  his  niece  was  his  inability — due 
to  his  Philadelphia  habit  of  mind — to  keep  up  with 
the  exceptionally  rapid  flow  of  her  ideas.  On  the 
present  occasion,  while  he  still  was  engaged  in  con 
sideration  of  the  irrational  proposition  that  he  should 
court  the  desperate  misery  that  attends  a  bilious  man 
at  sea  by  as  good  as  asking  to  be  taken  on  a  yacht 
voyage,  he  suddenly  found  his  ideas  twisted  off  into 
another  direction  by  the  reference  to  his  sister's  suf 
ferings  on  a  similar  occasion  in  the  past ;  and  be 
fore  he  could  frame  in  words  the  reproof  that  he  was 
disposed  to  administer  to  Dorothy  for  what  he  prob 
ably  would  have  styled  her  heartlessness,  he  found 
his  thoughts  shunted  to  yet  another  track  by  a  di 
rect  question.  It  is  within  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  Miss  Lee  had  arrived  at  a  just  estimate  of  her 
relative's  intellectual  peculiarities,  and  that  she  even 
sometimes  framed  her  discourses  with  a  view  to  tak 
ing  advantage  of  them. 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  45 

The  direct  question  being  the  simplest  section  of 
Dorothy's  complex  utterance,  Mr.  Port  abandoned 
his  intended  remonstrance  and  reproof  and  proceed 
ed  to  answer  it.  "  Yes,"  he  said,  "I  know  him.  It's 
Van  Rensselaer  Livingstone.  His  cousin,  Van  Ruy- 
ter  Livingstone,  married  your  cousin  Grace  —  Grace 
Winthrop,  you  know.  He's  a  great  scamp — this  one, 
I  mean ;  gambles,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  I'm  told, 
and  drinks,  and  —  and  various  things.  I  shall  have 
to  speak  to  him  if  he  sees  me,  I  suppose ;  but  of 
course  I  shall  not  introduce  him  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer  Livingstone !  Why  so  it  is ! 
How  perfectly  delightful !  I  know  him  very  well,  Un 
cle  Hutchinson.  He  was  in  Nice  the  last  winter  we 
were  there  ;  and  he  broke  the  bank  at  Monaco ;  and  he 
played  that  perfectly  absurd  trick  on  little  Prince  Spo- 
retti:  cut  off  his  little  black  mustache  when  Prince 
Sporetti  was — was  not  exactly  sober,  you  know,  and 
gummed  on  a  great  red  mustache  instead  of  it ;  and 
then,  before  the  prince  was  quite  himself  again,  took 
him  to  Lady  Ormsby's  ball.  All  Nice  was  in  a  per 
fect  roar  over  it.  And  they  had  a  duel  afterwards, 
and  Mr.  Livingstone  —  lie  is  a  wonderful  shot  —  in 
stead  of  hurting  the  little  prince,  just  shot  away  the 
tip  of  his  left  ear  as  nicely  as  possible.  Oh,  he  is  a 
delightful  man — and  here  he  comes."  And  Dorothy, 
half  rising  from  her  chair,  and  paying  no  more  atten 
tion  to  Mr.  Port's  kicks  under  the  table  than  she  did 
to  his  smothered  verbal  remonstrances,  extended  her 
well-shaped  white  hand  in  the  most  cordial  manner, 
and  in  the  most  cordial  tone  exclaimed : 


46  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL. 

"Won't  you  speak  to  me  in  English,  Mr.  Living 
stone  ?  We  talked  French,  I  think  it  was,  the  last 
time  we  met.  And  how  is  your  friend  Prince  Spo- 
retti  ?  Has  his  ear  grown  out  again  ?  You  know 
my  uncle,  I  think  ?  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port." 

Livingstone  took  the  proffered  hand  with  even 
more  cordiality  than  it  was  given,  and  then  extend 
ed  his  own  to  Mr.  Port — who  seemed  much  less  in 
clined  to  shake  it  than  to  bite  it. 

"I  think  that  we  are  justified  in  regarding  our 
selves  as  relations  now,  Miss  Lee,  since  our  cousins 
have  married  each  other,  you  know.  Quite  a  ro 
mance,  wasn't  it  ?  And  how  very  jolly  it  is  to  meet 
you  here  —  when  I  thought  that  you  certainly  were 
in  Switzerland  or  Norway,  or  even  over  in  that  new 
place  that  people  are  going  to  in  Roumania !  I  flat 
ter  myself  that  I  always  have  rather  a  knack  of  fall 
ing  on  my  feet,  but,  by  Jove,  I'm  doing  it  more  than 
usual  this  morning !" 

Miss  Lee  seemed  to  be  entirely  unaware  of  the 
fact  that  her  uncle  was  looking  like  an  animated 
thunder- cloud.  "It  is  just  like  a  bit  out  of  a  de 
lightful  novel,"  was  her  encouraging  response.  "  A 
long,  low,  black  schooner  suddenly  coming  in  from 
the  seaward  and  anchoring  close  off  shore,  and  the 
hero  landing  in  a  little  boat  just  in  time  to  slay  the 
villain  and  rescue  the  beautiful  bride.  Of  course 
I'm  the  beautiful  bride,  but  my  uncle  is  not  a  villain, 
but  the  very  best  of  guardians — by-the-way,  I  don't 
think  that  you  know  that  poor  dear  mamma  is  dead, 
Mr.  Livingstone?  Yes,  she  died  only  a  week  or  two 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL.  47 

after  you  left  us.  So  you  see  you  must  be  very  nice  to 
the  villain  —  and  you  can  begin  your  kind  treatment 
of  him  by  having  lunch  with  him  and  with  me  too. 
Uncle  Hutchinson  was  so  pleased  when  he  saw  you 
come  ashore.  He  said  that  we  certainly  must  capt 
ure  you,  and  he  sent  a  man  to  bring  some  hot  soup 
for  you  at  once  —  here  it  is  now."  And  so  it  was, 
for  Dorothy  herself  very  thoughtfully  had  given 
the  order  that  she  now  modestly  attributed  to  her 
uncle. 

And  so  in  less  than  ten  minutes  from  the  moment 
when  Mr.  Port  had  informed  Dorothy  that  Van 
Rensselaer  Livingstone  was  a  very  objectional  per 
son  whom  he  desired  to  avoid,  and  whose  introduc 
tion  to  her  was  not  even  to  be  thought  of,  they  all 
three  were  lunching  together  in  what  to  the  casual 
observer  seemed  to  be  the  most  amicable  manner 
possible. 


VIII. 

"I've  run  over  to  look  up  Mrs.  Rattleton,"  said 
Livingstone,  as  he  discussed  with  evident  relish  the 
filet  that  Mr.  Port  charitably  hoped  would  choke  him. 
"Very  likely  you  haven't  met  her,  for  she's  only  just 
got  here.  But  you'll  like  her,  I  know,  for  she's  ever 
so  jolly.  She's  promised  to  play  propriety  for  me  in 
a  party  that  we  want  to  make  up  aboard  the  yacht. 
The  squadron  won't  get  down  from  New  York  for  a 
week  yet,  and  I've  come  up  ahead  of  it  so  that  we 


48  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

can  have  a  cruise  to  the  Shoals  and  back  before  the 
races.  Of  course,  Miss  Lee,  you  won't  fly  in  the  face 
of  Fate,  after  this  providential  meeting,  by  refusing 
to  join  our  party;  at  least  if  you  do  you  will  make 
me  wretche^.  to  the  end  of  my  days.  And  we  will 
try  to  make  you  comfortable  on  board,  sir,"  he  add 
ed,  politely,  turning  to  Mr.  Port.  "I  have  a  tolera 
bly  fair  cook,  and  ice  isn't  the  only  thing  in  the  ice- 
chest,  I  assure  you." 

"  How  very  kind  you  are,  Mr.  Livingstone,"  Doro 
thy  hastened  to  say,  in  order  to  head  off  her  uncle's 
inevitable  refusal.  "  Of  course  we  will  go,  with  the 
greatest  possible  pleasure.  It  is  very  odd  how  things 
fall  out  sometimes.  Now  only  this  morning  I  was 
begging  Uncle  Hutchinson  to  take  me  off  yachting, 
and  he  was  saying  how  much  he  enjoyed  being  at 
sea,  and  how  he  really  thought  that  if  it  wasn't  for 
his  age  —  wasn't  it  absurd  of  him  to  talk  about  his 
age?  He  is  not  old  at  all,  the  dear! — he  would  have 
a  yacht  of  his  own.  And  almost  before  the  words 
are  fairly  out  of  our  mouths  here  you  drop  from  the 
clouds,  or  are  cast  up  by  the  sea,  it's  all  the  same 
thing,  and  give  us  both  just  what  we  have  been  long 
ing  for.  At  least,  Uncle  Hutchinson  pretended  to  be 
longing  for  it  only  in  case  he  could  be  young  enough 
to  enjoy  it ;  but  if  he  doesn't  think  he's  young  now, 
I'd  like  to  know  what  he'll  call  himself  when  he's 
fifty!"  And  then,  facing  around  sharply  upon  her 
uncle,  Dorothy  concluded :  "  The  idea  of  pretending 
that  you  are  too  old  to  go  yachting!  Really,  Uncle 
Hutchinson,!  am  ashamed  of  you!" 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  49 

As  has  been  intimated,  if  there  was  any  one  sub 
ject  upon  which  Mr.  Port  was  especially  sensitive,  it 
was  the  subject  of  his  age.  As  the  parish  register 
of  St.  Peter's  all  too  plainly  proved,  he  never  would 
see  sixty  again ;  but  this  awkward  record  was  in  an 
out-of-the-way  place,  and  the  agreeable  fiction  that 
he  advanced  in  various  indirect  ways  to  the  effect 
that  he  was  a  trifle  turned  of  forty  -  seven  was  not 
likely  to  be  officially  contradicted.  And  it  is  not 
impossible,  so  tenacious  was  he  upon  this  point,  that 
had  the  official  proof  been  produced,  he  would  have 
denied  its  authenticity.  For  it  was  Mr.  Port's  firm 
determination  still  to  figure  before  the  world  as  a 
youngish,  middle-aged  man. 

To  say  that  Miss  Lee  deliberately  set  herself  to 
playing  upon  this  weakness  of  her  guardian's,  possi 
bly,  remotely  possibly,  would  be  doing  her  injustice. 
But  the  fact  is  obvious  that  she  succeeded  by  her 
cleverly  turned  discourse  in  landing  her  esteemed 
relative  fairly  between  the  horns  of  an  exceedingly 
awkward  dilemma :  either  Mr.  Port  must  accept  the 
invitation  and  be  horribly  ill,  or  he  must  reject  it, 
and  so  throw  over  his  pretensions  to  elderly  youth. 

For  a  moment  the  unhappy  gentleman  hung  in  the 
wind,  and  Dorothy  regretted  that  she  had  not  made 
her  statement  of  the  case  still  stronger.  Indeed,  she 
was  about  to  supplement  it  by  a  remark  to  the  effect 
that  people  never  thought  of  giving  up  yachting  un 
til  they  were  turned  of  sixty,  when,  to  her  relief,  her 
uncle  slowly  filled  away  on  the  right  tack.  His  ac 
ceptance  was  expressed  in  highly  ungracious  terms; 


50  THE    UNCLE    OP    AN   ANGEL. 

but,  as  has  been  said,  Dorothy  never  troubled  herself 
about  forms,  provided  she  compassed  results.  The 
moment  that  he  had  uttered  the  fatal  words,  Mr. 
Port  fell  to  cursing  himself  in  his  own  mind  for 
being  such  a  fool;  but  the  same  reason  that  had 
impelled  him  to  give  his  consent  withheld  him  from 
retracting  it.  He  knew  that  he  was  going  to  be 
desperately  miserable;  but,  at  least,  nobody  could 
say  that  he  was  old. 

"  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  Lee,  and 
to  you  too,  Mr.  Port,"  said  Livingstone.  "And  now, 
if  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  go  and  hunt  up  Mrs.  Rattle- 
ton,  and  tell  her  what  a  splendid  raise  I've  made, 
and  help  her  organize  the  rest  of  the  party.  We 
shall  have  only  two  more.  It's  a  bore  to  have  more 
than  six  people  on  board  a  yacht.  I  don't  know 
why  it  is,  I'm  sure,  but  if  you  have  more  than  six 
they  always  get  to  fighting.  Queer,  isn't  it?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Port.  "Mrs.  Rat- 
tleton  ?  May  I  ask  if  this  is  the  Mrs.  Rattleton 
from  New  York  who  was  here  last  season,  the  one 
whose  bathing  costume  was  so  —  so  very  eccentric, 
and  about  whom  there  was  so  much  very  disagree 
able  talk?" 

"  Mrs.  Rattleton  is  from  New  York,  and  she  was 
here  last  season,"  Livingstone  answered.  "But  I 
can't  say  that  I  remember  anything  eccentric  in  her 
bathing  costume,  except  that  it  was  exceedingly  be 
coming  ;  and  I  certainly  never  heard  any  disagree 
able  talk  about  her.  There  may  have  been  such  talk 
about  her,  but  perhaps  it  was  thought  just  as  well 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  51 

not  to  have  it  in  my  presence.  Mrs.  Rattleton  is  my 
cousin,  Mr.  Port — she  was  a  Van  Twiller,  you  know. 
Do  you  happen  to  remember  any  of  the  things  that 
were  said  about  her,  and  who  said  them  ?"  Living 
stone  spoke  with  extreme  courtesy ;  but  there  was 
something  in  his  tone  that  caused  Mr.  Port  suddenly 
to  think  of  the  tip  of  Prince  Sporetti's  left  ear,  and 
that  led  him  to  reply  hurriedly,  and  by  no  means 
lucidly: 

"  Certainly — no — yes — that  is  to  say,  I  can't  ex 
actly  remember  anything  in  particular.  I'm  sure  I 
was  led  to  believe  from  what  was  said  that  she 
was  a  very  charming  woman.  No,  I  don't  remem 
ber  at  all." 

"Ah,  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well,"  Livingstone  re 
plied,  gravely.  "  But  how  lucky !"  he  added ;  "  there 
she  is  now.  Everybody  is  at  the  Casino  about  this 
time  of  day,  I  fancy.  May  I  bring  her  over  and  pre 
sent  her  to  you,  Miss  Lee  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  may,  Mr.  Livingstone.  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  meet  her.  And  if  she  is  to  matronize 
me,  the  sooner  that  I  begin  to  get  accustomed  to  her 
severities  the  better." 

And  then  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  suffered  a  fresh 
pang  of  misery  when  the  presentation  was  accom 
plished  and  he  was  forced  to  say  approximately 
pleasant  things  to  a  lady  whose  decidedly  ballet-like 
attire  in  the  surf — or,  to  be  precise,  on  the  beach 
above  high-water-mark,  where,  for  some  occult  rea 
son,  she  usually  saw  fit  to  do  the  most  of  her  bath 
ing — joined  to  the  exceeding  celerity  of  her  con- 


I 
52  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

duct  generally,  had  marked  her  during  the  preceding 
season  as  the  conspicuous  centre  of  one  phase  of  life 
at  the  Pier.  Nor  was  Mr.  Port's  lot  made  happier 
as  he  listened  to  the  brisk  discussion  that  ensued  in 
regard  to  the  organization  of  the  yachting  party, 
and  found  that  its  two  remaining  members  were  to 
be  drawn,  as  was  only  natural,  from  the  eminently 
meteoric  set  to  which  Mrs.  Rattleton  belonged. 

Had  time  been  given  Mr.  Port  for  consideration 
it  is  probable  that  he  would  have  collected  his  men 
tal  forces  sufficiently  to  have  enabled  him  to  lodge  a 
remonstrance ;  he  might  even — though  this  is  doubt 
ful,  for  Dorothy's  voting  power  was  vigorous — have 
accomplished  a  veto.  But  projects  in  which  Mrs. 
Rattleton  was  concerned  never  went  slowly  ;  and  in 
the  present  case  the  necessity  for  getting  back  in 
time  for  the  races  really  compelled  haste.  And  so 
it  came  to  pass  that  not  until  the  Fleetwmgs  was  off 
the  Brenton's  Reef  light-ship,  with  her  nose  pointed 
well  up  into  the  north-east,  was  there  framed  in  Mr. 
Port's  slow-moving  mind  a  suitable  line  of  argu 
ment  upon  which  to  base  a  peremptory  refusal  to 
go  upon  the  expedition — and  by  that  time  he  was 
so  excruciatingly  ill  in  his  own  cabin  that  coherent 
utterance  and  converse  with  his  kind  were  alike  im 
possible. 

So  far  as  Mr.  Port  was  concerned  the  ensuing  six 
days  made  up  an  epoch  in  his  life  that  can  only  be 
described  as  an  agonized  blank.  And  when — as  it 
seemed  to  him  many  ages  later — the  Fleetioings  once 
more  cast  anchor  off  Narragansett  Pier,  and  he  step- 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  53 

ped  shakily  from  the  schooner's  gig  to  the  Casino 
dock,  the  usual  plumpness  and  ruddiness  of  his  face 
had  given  place  to  a  yellow  leanness,  and  his  weight 
had  been  reduced  by  very  nearly  twenty  pounds. 
The  cruise  had  been  a  flying  one,  or  he  never  would 
have  finished  it.  After  the  first  six  hours  he  would 
have  landed  on  a  desert  island  cheerfully — and  it  is 
not  impossible  that  a  hint  from  Dorothy  as  to  her 
uncle's  probable  movements  should  a  harbor  be  made 
had  induced  Livingstone  to  give  the  land  a  wide 
berth. 

Dorothy  came  ashore  blooming.  "You  don't  know, 
Uncle  Hutchinson,"  she  said,  "  what  a  perfectly  love 
ly  time  I've  had  " — and  this  cheerful  assertion  was 
the  literal  truth,  for  Mr.  Port  had  entered  his  cabin 
before  the  yacht  had  crossed  the  line  between  Bea 
ver  Tail  and  Point  Judith,  and  had  not  emerged 
from  it  until  the  anchor  went  overboard.  "And 
you  don't  know,"  Miss  Lee  went  on  with  effusion, 
"  how  grateful  your  angel  is  to  you  for  helping  her 
to  have  such  a  delightful  cruise.  I'm  sorry  that 
you  haven't  been  very  well,  Uncle  Hutchinson  ;  but 
I  know  that  you  will  be  all  the  better  for  it.  Poor 
dear  mamma,  you  know,  was  bilious  too,  and  going 
to  sea  always  made  her  wretched  ;  but  she  used  to 
be  wonderfully  well  always  when  she  got  on  shore 
again.  And  you'll  be  wonderfully  well  too,  you 
dear;  and  that  will  be  your  reward  for  helping  your 
angel  to  have  such  a  perfectly  delightful  time." 

Mr.  Port  made  no  reply  to  this  address,  for  his 
condition  of  collapse  was  too  complete   to  permit 


54  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

him  to  give  form  in  words  to  the  thoughts  of  rage 
and  resentment  which  were  burning  in  the  depths 
of  his  injured  soul.  Without  a  word  to  one  single 
member  of  the  party,  he  climbed  heavily  into  a  car 
riage  and  was  driven  directly  to  his  hotel — while 
Dorothy,  still  under  the  chaperonage  of  Mrs.  Rat- 
tleton,  gayly  joined  the  pleasant  little  lunch-party  at 
the  Casino  with  which  the  yacht  voyage  came  to  an 
end. 


IX. 


During  the  ensuing  week,  a  considerable  portion 
of  which  Mr.  Port  passed  in  the  privacy  of  his  own 
room,  the  relations  between  Miss  Lee  and  her  guar 
dian  were  characterized  by  a  chill  formality  that 
was  ominous  of  a  coming  storm.  In  point  of  fact, 
Mr.  Port  was  waiting  only  until  he  should  fully  re 
gain  his  strength  in  order  to  try  conclusions  with 
Dorothy  once  and  for  all — and  he  was  most  highly 
resolved  that  in  the  impending  battle  royal  he  should 
not  suffer  defeat.  So  far,  he  had  gone  down  in  each 
encounter  with  his  spirited  antagonist  because  the 
tactics  employed  against  him  were  of  an  unfamiliar 
sort.  But  he  was  beginning  to  get  the  hang  of  these 
tactics  now ;  and  he  also  had  got  what  in  fighting 
parlance  would  have  been  styled  his  second  wind. 
As  he  thought  of  the  wrongs  which  had  been  heaped 
upon  him,  rage  filled  his  breast ;  and  the  strong  de 
termination  slowly  shaped  itself  within  him  that  to 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL.  55 

the  finesse  of  the  enemy  lie  would  oppose  a  solid 
front  of  brute  force. 

Astuteness  was  not  the  least  marked  of  Miss  Lee's 
many  charming  characteristics,  and  although  her 
guardian  gave  no  outward  sign  of  his  belligerent 
intentions,  she  felt  an  inward  conviction  that  a  de 
cisive  trial  of  strength  between  them  was  at  hand. 
Five  or  six  years  earlier  she  had  engaged  in  a  trial 
of  this  nature  with  her  mother,  and  had  emerged 
from  it  victorious.  In  that  case,  feminine  weakness 
had  yielded  to  feminine  strength.  But  now  the 
gloomy  thought  assailed  her  that  her  uncle,  while 
closely  resembling  her  mother  in  the  matter  of  his 
liver,  had  in  the  depths  of  his  torpid  nature  a 
substratum  of  brutal  masculine  resolution  against 
which,  should  it  fairly  be  set  in  array,  she  might 
battle  in  vain.  And  the  upshot  of  her  meditations 
was  the  conviction  that  her  only  chance  of  suc 
cess  lay  in  avoiding  a  battle  by  a  radical  change  of 
base. 

An  easy  way,  as  she  perceived,  to  effect  such  a 
change  of  base  was  to  marry  Van  Rensselaer  Liv 
ingstone.  Indeed,  his  proposal,  a  couple  of  days 
after  the  yacht  voyage  ended,  came  so  opportunely 
that  she  almost  was  surprised  into  accepting  it  out 
of  hand.  But  Dorothy  was  too  well  balanced  a 
young  person  to  do  anything  hastily,  even  to  get 
herself  out  of  a  tight  place ;  and  while  she  held  Liv 
ingstone's  proposal  under  advisement — as  a  line  of 
retreat  kept  open  for  use  in  case  of  urgent  necessity 
— she  welcomed  it  less  for  the  possibilities  of  a  safer 


56  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL. 

position  that  it  offered  than  for  those  which  it  sug 
gested  to  her  fertile  mind. 

Marriage,  she  decided,  was  the  only  way  by  which 
she  could  score  a  final  victory  over  her  uncle,  and  at 
the  same  time  spike  his  guns ;  but  it  did  not  neces 
sarily  follow  that  her  marriage  must  be  with  Living 
stone.  Indeed,  as  her  coolly  intelligent  mind  per 
ceived,  marrying  an  unmanageable  young  man  in 
order  to  be  free  of  an  unmanageable  old  one  would 
be  simply  walking  out  of  the  frying-pan  into  the 
fire — and  that  was  not  at  all  the  resolution  of  her 
difficulties  that  Dorothy  sought.  The  plan  that 
now  began  to  shape  itself  in  her  mind  wras  one  by 
which  both  fire  and  frying-pan  would  be  success 
fully  avoided  ;  and  as  the  more  that  she  examined 
into  it  the  more  desirable  it  appeared  to  her,  she  lost 
no  time  in  carrying  it  into  effect — whereby,  in  less 
than  three  days'  time,  she  sent  Mr.  Van  Rensselaer 
Livingstone  away  in  such  a  rage  that  he  put  to  sea 
in  the  very  face  of  a  threatening  north-easter,  and  in 
a  much  shorter  period  she  caused  her  uncle  seriously 
to  doubt  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses. 

At  the  end  of  his  week  of  retirement,  Mr.  Port 
found  himself  in  the  hale  condition  of  a  bilious 
giant  refreshed  with  blue-pills.  He  looked  a  little 
thinner  than  when  he  had  started  upon  his  ill-starred 
cruise,  and  his  usual  ruddiness  was  not  as  yet  fully 
restored  ;  but  he  was  in  capital  condition,  and  a  good 
deal  more  than  ready  for  Miss  Lee  to  come  on.  He 
could  not  very  well,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  start 
an  offensive  campaign  ;  but  at  the  very  first  sug- 


"  The  severe  Mrs.  Logan  Jiiltothoust," 


THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL.  59 

gestion  on  Dorothy's  part  of  the  slightest  desire  to 
engage  again  in  any  of  the  various  forms  of  frivo 
lous  amusement  by  which  she  had  made  his  life  a 
burden  to  him,  he  was  all  loaded  and  primed  to  go 
off  with  a  bang  that  he  believed  would  settle  her. 

And,  such  is  the  perversity  of  human  nature,  Mr. 
Port  presently  became  not  a  little  annoyed  by  Doro 
thy's  failure  to  supply  the  spark  that  was  to  touch 
him  off.  In  fact,  her  conduct  was  bewilderingly 
strange.  She  drew  away  from  the  lively  circle  of 
which  Mrs.  Rattleton  was  the  animated  centre  and 
voluntarily  associated  herself  with  the  elderly  and 
very  respectable  Philadelphians  whose  acquaintance 
she  previously  had  so  emphatically  declined.  Still 
further  to  Mr.  Port's  astonishment,  the  lady  and 
gentleman  especially  singled  out  by  Miss  Lee  as 
most  in  accord  with  her  newly-acquired  tastes  were 
the  severe  Mrs.  Logan  Rittenhouse  and  that  lady's 
staid  brother,  Mr.  Pennington  Brown.  At  the  feet 
of  the  former,  quite  literally,  she  sat  as  a  disciple  in 
crochet;  and  listened  the  while  with  every  outward 
sign  of  interest  to  the  dull  record  of  South  Fourth 
Street  scandals  of  the  past  and  West  Walnut  Street 
scandals  of  the  present  which  this  estimable  matron 
poured  into  her  ears  by  the  hour  at  a  time.  And  in 
a  quiet  corner  of  the  veranda  (Mr.  Brown's  eyesight 
having  failed  a  little,  so  that  he  found  reading  rather 
difficult)  she  read  aloud  to  the  latter  from  Watsorfs 
Annals;  and  listened  with  a  pleased  satisfaction  to 
his  comments  upon  her  selections  from  this,  the  Phil 
adelphia  Bible,  and  to  the  numerous  anecdotes  of  a 


GO  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL. 

genealogical  and  antiquarian  cast  which  thus  were 
recalled  to  his  mind.  Possibly  the  readings  from 
"Watson  were  continued  in  the  afternoons  —  when 
Miss  Lee  and  Mr.  Brown  regularly  went  down  to 
the  Rocks.  So  extraordinary  was  all  this  that  Mr. 
Port  admitted  frankly  to  himself  that  he  could 
make  neither  head  nor  tail  of  it;  but  he  had  an  in 
born  conviction  that  such  an  unnatural  state  of 
affairs  was  not  likely  to  last.  There  was  good 
Scriptural  authority,  he  called  to  mind  grimly,  for 
the  assertion  that  the  leopard  did  not  change  his 
spots  nor  the  Ethiopian  his  skin. 


In  accordance  with  the  substantial  customs  of  his 
fellow-citizens,  Mr.  Port  always  returned  to  Phila 
delphia  sharp  on  the  1st  of  September — calmly  ig 
noring  the  heat  and  the  mosquitoes,  which  are  the 
dominant  characteristics  of  Phildelphia  during  that 
month,  and  resting  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  the 
course  which  he  pursued  was  that  which  his  father 
and  his  grandfather  had  pursued  before  him.  It 
was  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  from  Narragansett 
that  his  doubts  and  perplexities  occasioned  by  Doro 
thy's  surprising  conduct  were  resolved. 

Being  seated  in  a  snug  corner  of  the  veranda  in 
company  with  Mr.  Pennington  Brown,  Mr.  Port  was 
smoking  a  comforting  cigar.  Mr.  Brown,  who  also 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  Cl 

was  smoking,  did  not  seem  to  find  his  cigar  comfort 
ing.  He  smoked  it  in  so  fitful  a  fashion  that  it  re 
peatedly  went  out ;  and  his  nervousness  seemed  to 
be  increased  each  time  that  he  lighted  it.  Further, 
his  comment  upon  Mr.  Port's  discourse — which  was 
a  more  than  ordinarily  thoughtful  and  accurate 
weighing  of  the  relative  merits  of  thin  and  thick 
soups — obviously  were  delivered  quite  at  random. 
At  first  Mr.  Port  was  disposed  to  resent  this  inat 
tention  to  his  soulful  utterances  ;  but  as  the  subject 
was  one  in  which,  as  he  well  knew,  his  friend  was 
profoundly  interested,  he  presently  became  uneasy. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Brown  ?"  he  asked,  in  a  tone 
of  kindly  concern.  "Is  your  rheumatism  bothering 
you  ?  I've  been  afraid  that  your  absurd  sitting 
around  on  rocks  with  my  niece  would  bring  it  on 
again.  You're  not  as  young  as  you  once  were,  Pen, 
and  you've  got  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

"  I  am  not  aware,  Port,"  Mr.  Brown  answered 
rather  stiffly,  "that  I  am  as  yet  conspicuously  super 
annuated.  Indeed,  I  never  felt  younger  in  my  life 
than  I  have  felt  during  the  past  fortnight.  I  have 
a  little  touch  of  rheumatism  to-night,"  he  added, 
frankly,  and  at  the  same  time  gave  unintentional 
emphasis  to  his  admission  by  catching  his  breath 
and  almost  groaning  as  he  slightly  moved  his  legs, 
"but  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  sitting  on  the  rocks 
with  Dor — with  your  charming  niece.  You  forget 
that  my  rheumatism  is  hereditary,  Port.  Why,  I 
had  an  attack  of  it  when  I  was  only  five-and-twenty." 

"All  the  same,  you  wouldn't  have  it  now  if  you 
4 


62  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN   ANGEL. 

had  spent  your  afternoons  sensibly  with  me  here  on 
a  dry  veranda,  or  properly  wrapped  up  in  a  dry  car 
riage,  instead  of  on  damp  rocks,  with  that  baggage. 
What  on  earth  has  got  into  you  I  can't  imagine.  If 
you  were  twenty  years  younger,  Brown,  I  should 
think,  yes,  positively,  I  should  think  that  you  were 
iu  love  with  her." 

"  Port,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  with  a  tone  of  resent 
ment  in  his  voice,  "  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  if 
you  will  not  use  such  language  when  you  are  speak 
ing  of  Miss  Lee.  She  is  the  best  and  kindest  and 
noblest  woman  I  ever  have  met.  You  have  most 
cruelly  misunderstood  her.  Had  you  given  her  half 
a  chance  she  would  have  been  to  you  only  a  source 
of  constant  joy." 

Mr.  Port  replied  to  this  emphatic  assertion  by 
a  low,  but  most  pointedly  incredulous,  whistle. 

"You  have  not  the  slightest  conception,  as  such 
a  comment  shows,"  Mr.  Brown  continued,  with  in 
creasing  asperity,  "of  the  depths  of  sweetness  and 
tenderness  which  are  in  her  nature ;  of  her  perfect 
unselfishness;  of  the  gentleness  and  trustfulness  of 
her  heart.  She  is  all  that  a  woman  can  be,  and 
more.  She  is — she  is  an  angel !"  Mr.  Brown's  el 
derly  voice  trembled  as  he  made  this  avowal. 

As  for  Mr.  Port,  his  astonishment  was  almost  too 
deep  for  words.  But  he  managed  to  say  :  "  Yes,  I 
suppose  she  is — at  least  she  has  said  so  often  enough 
herself." 

For  some  seconds  there  was  silence ;  and  then, 
with  a  deprecating  manner  and  in  a  voice  from 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN    ANGEL.  63 

which  all  trace  of  resentment  had  disappeared,  Mr. 
Brown  resumed:  "Hutch,  old  man,  you  and  I  have 
been  friends  these  many  years  together,  and  you 
won't  fail  me  in  your  friendship  now,  will  you  ? 
You  are  right,  I  am  in  love  with  this  sweet  young 
creature,  and  she — think  of  it,  Hutch  ! — she  has  ad 
mitted  that  she  is  in  love  with  me ;  not  romanti 
cally  in  love,  for  that  would  be,  not  absurd,  of 
course,  but  a  little  unreasonable — for  while  I'm  not 
at  all  old,  yet  I  know,  of  course,  that  I  am  not  ex 
actly  what  can  be  called  young — but  in  love  sensi 
bly  and  rationally.  She  wants  to  take  care  of  me, 
she  says,  the  dear  child!"  (Mr.  Port  grunted.) 
"And  she  has  such  clever  notions  in  regard  to  my 
health.  When  we  are  married — how  strange  and 
how  delightful  it  sounds,  Hutch  ! — she  says  that  we 
will  go  immediately  to  Carlsbad,  where  the  waters 
will  do  my  rheumatism  a  world  of  good ;  and  from 
there,  when  I  am  better,  we  will  go  on  to  Vienna, 
where  the  dry  climate  and  the  w7hite  wfties,  she 
thinks,  still  further  will  benefit  me ;  and  from  Vi 
enna,  in  order  to  set  me  on  my  feet  completely,  we 
are  to  go  on  to  the  North  and  spend  a  winter  in 
Russia — for  there  is  nothing  that  cures  rheumatism 
so  quickly  and  so  thoroughly,  she  says  (though  1 
never  should  have  imagined  it)  as  steady  and  long- 
continued  cold.  Just  think  of  her  planning  it  all 
out  for  me  so  well ! 

"Yes,  Hutch,  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart;  and 
what  has  made  me  so  nervous  to-night  is  the  great 
happiness  that  has  come  to  me — it  only  came  posi- 


64  THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 

lively  this  afternoon — and  the  dread  that  perhaps, 
as  her  guardian,  you  know,  you  might  not  approve 
of  what  we  have  decided  to  do.  But  you  do  ap 
prove,  don't  you,  Hutch  ?  Of  course,  in  a  few 
months  she  will  be  her  own  mistress,  and  your  con 
sent  to  our  marriage,  as  she  very  truly  says,  then 
will  be  unnecessary.  But  even  a  month  seems  a 
desperately  long  while  to  wait ;  and  that  is  the  very 
shortest  time,  she  thinks,  in  which  she  could  get 
ready — though  the  dear  child  has  consented  to  wait 
for  most  of  the  little  things  which  she  wants  until 
we  get  on  the  other  side."  Mr.  Port  smiled  cyni 
cally  at  the  announcement  of  this  concession.  It 
struck  him  that  when  Dorothy  was  turned  loose 
among  the  Paris  shops,  backed  by  the  capacious 
purse  of  a  doting  elderly  husband,  she  would  mow 
a  rather  startlingly  broad  swath.  "So  you  won't 
oppose  our  marriage,  will  you,  old  man  ?  You  will 
consent  to  my  having  this  dear  young  creature  for 
my  wife  ?" 

Various  emotions  found  place  in  Mr.  Port's  breast 
as  he  listened  to  this  extraordinary  declaration  and 
appeal.  At  first  he  felt  a  lively  anger  at  Dorothy 
for  having,  as  he  coarsely  phrased  it  in  his  own 
mind,  so  successfully  gammoned  Mr.  Pennington 
Brown  ;  to  this  succeeded  an  involuntary  admiration 
of  the  clever  way  in  which  she  had  managed  it ;  and 
then  a  feeling  of  profound  satisfaction  possessed  him 
as  there  came  into  his  slow-moving  mind  a  realizing 
sense  of  his  own  deliverance.  But  Mr.  Port  was  not 
so  utterly  selfish  but  that,  in  the  midst  of  the  sunrise 


THE   UXCLE    OF   AX   ANGEL.  65 

of  happiness  which  dawned  upon  him  with  the  open 
ing  of  a  way  by  which  he  decently  could  get  rid  of 
Dorothy,  he  was  assailed  by  certain  qualms  of  con 
science  as  to  the  unfairness  of  thus  casting  upon  his 
old  friend  the  burden  that  he  had  found  so  hard  to 
bear.  For  the  heaviness  of  Mr.  Port's  mental  proc 
esses  prevented  him  from  perceiving,  as  a  shrewder 
person  would  have  perceived,  that  Dorothy  was  not 
the  sort  of  young  woman  to  engage  in  an  enterprise 
of  this  nature  without  first  fully  counting  the  cost. 
Had  he  been  keener  of  penetration  he  would  have 
known  that  she  could  be  trusted,  when  safely  landed 
in  the  high  estate  of  matrimony,  to  play  on  skilfully 
the  game  that  she  had  so  skilfully  begun ;  that  in 
her  own  interest  she  would  manage  matters  in  such 
a  way  as  never  to  arouse  in  the  mind  of  her  elderly 
husband  the  awkward  suspicion  that  the  scheme  of 
life  arranged  by  his  angel  apparently  with  a  view 
solely  to  his  own  comfort  really  was  arranged  only 
for  the  comfort  of  her  angelic  self. 

It  was  while  Mr.  Port  wavered  among  his  qualms 
of  conscience,  hesitating  between  his  great  longing 
to  chuck  Dorothy  overboard,  and  so  have  done  with 
her,  and  his  sense  of  duty  to  Mr.  Pennington  Brown, 
that  the  subject  of  his  perplexities  herself  appeared 
upon  the  scene  ;  and  her  arrival  at  so  critical  a  junct 
ure  seemed  to  suggest  as  a  remote  possibility  that 
she  had  been  all  the  while  snuffing  this  particular 
battle  from  not  very  far  off. 

"Dear  Uncle  Hutchinson,"  said  Miss  Lee,  with 
affectionate  fervor,  "  do  you  think  that  your  angel 


66  THE    UNCLE    OF    AX    ANGEL. 

is  most  cruel  and  horrid  because  she  is  willing  to  go 
off  in  this  way  after  her  own  selfish  happiness  and 
leave  you  all  alone?  But  she  won't  do  it,  dear,  if 
you  would  rather  have  her  stay.  Her  only  wish,  you 
know,  has  been  to  make  you  comfortable  and  happy ; 
and  you  have  been  so  good  and  so  kind  to  her  that 
she  is  ready  to  sacrifice  even  her  love  for  your  sake. 
Yes,  if  you  would  rather  keep  her  to  yourself  she 
will  stay.  Only  if  she  does  stay,"  and  there  was  a 
warning  tone  of  deep  meaning  in  Miss  Lee's  well- 
modulated  voice,  "her  heart,  of  course,  will  be 
broken,  and  she  will  have  to  ask  you  to  travel  with 
her  for  two  or  three  years  into  out-of-the-way  parts 
of  the  world  "  (Mr.  Port  shuddered)  "  until  her  poor 
broken  heart  gets  well.  Not  that  it  ever  will  get 
quite  well  again,  you  know ;  but  she  will  be  brave, 
and  try  to  pretend  for  your  sake  that  it  has.  So  it 
shall  be  just  as  you  say,  dear;  only  for  Penning- 
ton's  sake,  who  loves  me  so  much,  Uncle  Hutchin- 
son,  I  hope  that  perhaps  you  may  be  willing  to  let 
me  go." 

And  having  concluded  this  moving  address,  Miss 
Lee  extended  one  of  her  well-shaped  hands  to  Mr. 
Pennington  Brown — who  grasped  it  warmly,  for  he 
was  deeply  moved  by  so  edifying  an  exhibition  of 
affectionate  and  dutiful  unselfishness — and  with  the 
other  applied  her  handkerchief  delicately  to  her  eyes. 

Mr.  Port  wras  not  in  the  least  moved  by  Dorothy's 
professions  of  self-sacrifice  ;  but  he  was  most  seri 
ously  alarmed  by  her  threat  —  that  opened  before 
him  a  dismal  vista  of  bilious  misery — to  cart  him 


THE    UNCLE    OF    AN   ANGEL. 


for  several  years  about  the  world  on  the  pretext  of 
a  broken  heart  that  required  travel  for  its  mending. 
He  believed,  to  be  sure,  that  in  a  stand-up  fight 
he  could  conquer  Dorothy ;  but  he  had  his  doubts  as 
to  how  long  she  would  stay  conquered — and  between 


constant  fighting  and  constant  travel  there  is  not 
much  choice  ;  for  Mr.  Port  knew  from  experience 
how  acute  is  that  form  of  biliousness  which  results 
from  rage.  After  all,  self-preservation  is  the  first 
law  of  nature  ;  and  under  the  stress  thus  put  upon 


68  THE    UNCLE    OF   AN    ANGEL. 

him,  therefore,  it  is  not  surprising  that  Mr.  Port's 
qualms  of  conscience  incident  to  his  failure  to  do  his 
duty  to  his  neighbor  vanished  to  the  winds. 

Mr.  Pennington  Brown  still  held  Dorothy's  hand 
in  his  own.  "Will  you  make  this  great  sacrifice, 
Hutch,  for  your  old  friend  ?"  he  asked. 

Mr.  Port  hesitated  a  little,  for  he  felt  a  good  deal 
like  a  criminal  who  is  shifting  his  crime  upon  an  in 
nocent  man ;  and  then  he  answered,  rather  weakly 
both  in  tones  and  terms  :  "Why,  of  course." 

"  Dear  Uncle  Hutchinson,  how  good  you  are  !" 
exclaimed  Miss  Lee.  "And  you  really  think  that 
you  can  spare  your  angel,  then?" 

And  both  promptly  and  firmly  Mr.  Port  answered  : 
"Yes,  I  really  think  that  I  can." 


A  BOEDEE  EUFFIAK. 


I.— WEST. 

The  Incident  of  the  Boston  Young  Lady,  the  Commercial 
Traveller,  and  the  Desperado. 

I. 

THKOUGHOUT  the  whole  of  the  habitable  globe 
there  nowhere  is  to  be  found  more  delightful  or  more 
invigorating  air  than  that  which  every  traveller 
through  New  Mexico,  from  Albuquerque,  past  Las 
Vegas,  to  the  Raton  Mountains,  is  free  to  breathe. 

Miss  Grace  Winthrop,  of  Boston,  and  also  Miss 
Winthrop,  her  paternal  aunt,  and  also  Mr.  Hutchin- 
son  Port,  of  Philadelphia,  her  maternal  uncle — all 
of  whom  were  but  forty  hours  removed  from  the 
Alkali  Desert  west  of  the  Continental  Divide — felt 
in  the  very  depths  of  their  several  beings  how  en 
tirely  good  this  air  was  ;  and,  as  their  several  nat 
ures  moved  them,  they  betrayed  their  lively  appre 
ciation  of  its  excellence. 

Miss  Grace  "Winthrop,  having  contrived  for  her 
self,  with  the  intelligent  assistance  of  the  porter,  a 
most  comfortable  nest  of  pillows,  suffered  her  novel 
to  remain  forgotten  upon  her  knees  ;  and,  as  she 
leaned  her  pretty  blond  head  against  the  wood- 


72  A   BOKDEK    RUFFIAN. 

work  separating  her  section  from  that  adjoining  it, 
looked  out  upon  the  brown  mountains,  and  accorded 
to  those  largely- grand  objects  of  nature  the  rare 
privilege  of  being  reflected  upon  the  retina  of  her 
very  blue  eyes.  Yet  the  mountains  could  not  flat 
ter  themselves  with  the  conviction  that  contempla 
tion  of  them  wholly  filled  her  mind,  for  occasionally 
she  smiled  a  most  delightful  smile. 

Miss  Winthrop,  retired  from  the  gaze  of  the  world 
in  the  cell  that  the  Pullman-car  people  euphemistical 
ly  style  a  state-room,  ignored  all  such  casual  excres 
cences  upon  the  face  of  nature  as  mountains,  and 
seriously  read  her  morning  chapter  of  Emerson. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  lulled  by  the  easy,  jog-trot 
motion  of  the  car,  and  soothed  by  the  air  from  Para 
dise  that,  for  his  virtues,  he  was  being  permitted  to 
breathe,  lapsed  into  calm  and  grateful  slumber :  and 
dreamed  (nor  could  a  worthy  Philadelphia!!  desire  a 
better  dream)  of  a  certain  meeting  of  the  Saturday 
Night  Club,  in  December,  1875,  whereat  the  terrapin 
was  remarkable,  even  for  Philadelphia. 

Miss  Winthrop,  absorbed  in  her  Emersonian  devo 
tions,  and  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  absorbed  in  slum 
ber,  did  not  perceive  that  the  slow  motion  of  the 
train  gradually  became  slower,  and  finally  entirely 
ceased ;  and  even  Grace,  lost  in  her  pleasant  day 
dream,  scarcely  observed  that  the  unsightly  buildings 
of  a  little  way-station  had  thrust  themselves  into  the 
foreground  of  her  landscape — for  this  foreground  she 
ignored,  keeping  her  blue  eyes  serenely  fixed  upon 
the  great  brown  mountains  beyond.  Nor  was  she 


A   BOEDER   EUFFIAN.  73 

more  than  dimly  conscious  of  the  appearance  upon 
the  station  platform  of  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  young 
man  clad  in  corduroy,  wearing  a  wide -brimmed 
felt -hat,  and  girded  about  with  a  belt,  stuck  full 
of  cartridges,  from  which  depended  a  very  big  re 
volver.  In  a  vague  way  she  was  conscious  of  this 
young  man's  existence,  and  of  an  undefined  feeling 
that,  as  the  type  of  a  dangerous  and  interesting 
class,  his  appearance  was  opportune  in  a  part  of  the 
country  which  she  had  been  led  to  believe  was  in 
habited  almost  exclusively  by  cut-throats  and  out 
laws. 

In  a  minute  or  two  the  train  went  on  again,  and 
as  it  started  Grace  was  aroused  and  shocked  by  the 
appearance  at  the  forward  end  of  the  car  of  the  ruf 
fianly  character  whom  she  had  but  half  seen  from 
the  car  window.  For  a  moment  she  believed  that 
the  train-robbery,  that  she  had  been  confidently  ex 
pecting  ever  since  her  departure  from  San  Francisco, 
was  about  to  take  place.  Her  heart  beat  hard,  and 
her  breath  came  quickly.  But  before  these  symp 
toms  had  time  to  become  alarming  the  desperado 
had  passed  harmlessly  to  the  rear  end  of  the  car, 
and  after  him  had  come  the  porter  carrying  his 
valise  and  a  Winchester  rifle. 

"  Goin'  to  Otero?  Yes,  sah  !  All  right,  sah  !  Put 
yo'  heah  ;  nice  seat  on  shady  side,  sah  !  Thank  yo', 
sah  !  Have  a  pillow,  sah  ?"  And,  hearing  this  address 
on  the  part  of  the  porter,  Grace  knew  that  the  des 
perado,  for  the  moment  at  least,  was  posing  in  the 
character  of  a  law-abiding  citizen,  and  was  availing 


74  A   BOEDER    KUFFIAN. 

himself  of  his  rights  as  such  to  ride  in  a  Pullman-car. 
Being  thus  relieved  of  cause  for  immediate  alarm, 
her  breast  presently  began  to  swell  with  a  fine  indig 
nation  at  the  impudence  of  this  abandoned  person  in 
thus  thrusting  himself  into  a  place  reserved,  if  not 
absolutely  for  aristocratic,  certainly,  at  least,  for  re 
spectable  society. 


II. 

The  slight  stir  incident  to  the  entrance  of  this  of 
fensive  stranger  aroused  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  from 
his  agreeable  slumber.  He  yawned  slightly,  cast  a 
disparaging  glance  upon  the  mountains,  and  then, 
drawing  an  especially  good  cigar  from  his  case,  be 
took  himself  to  the  smoking-room.  Grace  did  not 
realize  his  intentions  until  they  had  become  accom 
plished  deeds. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  Port — although  a  member  (on  the 
retired  list)  of  the  First  City  Troop,  and  therefore, 
presumably,  inflamed  with  the  martial  spirit  charac 
teristic  of  that  ancient  and  honorable  organization — 
was  not,  perhaps,  just  the  man  that  a  person  know 
ing  in  such  matters  would  have  selected  to  pit 
against  a  New  Mexico  desperado  in  a  hand-to-hand 
conflict.  But  Grace  felt  her  heart  sink  a  little  as 
she  saw  the  round  and  rather  pursy  form  of  her 
natural  protector  walk  away  into  the  depths  of  a 
mirror  at  the  forward  end  of  the  car,  and  so  vanish. 
And  in  this  same  mirror  she  beheld,  seated  only  two 
sections  behind  her,  the  scowling  ruffian ! 


A    BOEDER   EUFFIAN.  75 

The  situation,  as  Grace  regarded  it,  was  an  alarm 
ing  one ;  and  it  was  the  more  trying  to  her  nerves 
because  it  did  not,  reasonably,  admit  of  action.  She 
was  aware  that  the  very  presence  of  a  ruffian  in  a 
Pullman  car  was  in  the  nature  of  a  promise,  on  his 
part,  that  for  the  time  being  it  was  not  his  intention 
either  to  murder  or  to  rob — unless,  indeed,  he  were 
one  of  a  robber  band,  and  was^awaiting  the  appear 
ance  of  his  confederates.  For  her  either  to  call  her 
uncle,  or  break  in  upon  the  Emersonian  seclusion  of 
her  aunt,  she  felt  would  not  be  well  received,  under 
the  circumstances,  by  either  of  these  her  relatives. 
As  to  the  porter,  that  sable  functionary  had  van 
ished  ;  there  was  no  electric  bell,  and  the  car,  one  of 
a  Pullman  train,  had  no  conductor. 

For  protection,  therefore,  should  need  for  protec 
tion  arise,  Grace  perceived  that  she  must  depend 
upon  the  one  other  passenger.  (They  had  lingered 
so  long  amid  the  delights  of  a  Santa  Barbara  spring 
that  they  were  journeying  in  that  pleasant  time  of 
year  when  spring  travel  eastward  has  ended,  and 
summer  travel  has  not  yet  begun.)  This  one  other 
passenger  was  a  little  man  of  dapper  build  and  dap 
per  dress,  whose  curiously-shaped  articles  of  luggage 
betokened  his  connection  with  commercial  affairs. 
Grace  was  forced  to  own,  as  she  now  for  the  first 
time  regarded  him  attentively,  that  he  did  not  seem 
to  be  wrought  of  the  stern  stuff  out  of  which,  as  a 
rule,  champions  are  made. 

As  she  thus  looked  upon  him,  she  was  startled  to 
find  that  he  was  looking  very  fixedly  upon  her ;  and 


76  A    BOEDER    EUFFIAN. 

she  was  further  startled,  as  their  eyes  met,  by  the 
appearance  upon  his  face  of  a  friendly  smile.  She 
would  have  been  vastly  surprised  had  she  been 
aware  that  this  little  person  labored  under  the  belief 
that  he  had  already  effected  a  favorable  lodgement 
in  her  good  graces ;  and  she  would  have  been  both 
surprised  and  horrified  could  she  have  known  that 
each  of  her  own  strictly  confidential  smiles  during 
her  day-dream  had  been  accepted  by  the  commercial 
traveller  as  intended  for  himself  ;  and  had  been  met, 
as  they  successively  appeared,  by  his  own  smiles  in 
answer.  Yet  this  was  the  actual  state  of  the  case  ; 
and  the  little  man's  soul  was  uplifted  by  the  thought 
that  here  was  a  fresh  proof,  and  a  very  pleasant  one, 
of  how  irresistible  were  his  personal  appearance  and 
his  personal  charm  of  manner  when  arrayed  in  bat 
tery  against  any  one  of  the  gentler  sex. 

Viewed  from  the  stand -point  of  his  experience, 
this  inquiring  look  and  its  attendant  eye-encounter 
indicated  that  the  moment  for  more  pronounced  ac 
tion  now  had  arrived.  With  the  assured  air  of  one 
who  possibly  may  be  repulsed,  but  who  certainly 
cannot  be  defeated,  he  arose  from  his  seat,  crossed 
to  Miss  Grace  Winthrop's  section,  and,  with  a  pleas 
ant  remark  to  the  effect  that  in  travelling  it  always 
was  nice  to  be  sociable,  edged  himself  into  the  seat 
beside  her. 

For  a  moment,  the  insolent  audacity  of  this  move 
was  so  overwhelming  that  Grace  was  quite  incapa 
ble  of  coherent  expression.  The  lovely  pink  of  her 
cheeks  became  a  deep  crimson  that  spread  to  the 


A   BORDER   RUFFIAN.  77 

very  tips  of  her  ears ;  her  blue  eyes  flashed,  and  her 
hands  clinched  instinctively. 

"Looked  like  a  perfect  little  blue -eyed  devil," 
the  drummer  subsequently  declared,  in  narrating  a 
highly-embellished  version  of  his  adventure,  "  but 
she  didn't  mean  it,  you  know — at  least,  only  for  a 
minute  or  two.  I  soon  combed  her  down  nicely." 
What  he  actually  said,  was  : 

"Been  travellin'  far,  miss?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  this?  Go  away  !"  Grace 
managed  to  say ;  but  she  could  not  speak  very  clear 
ly,  for  she  was  choking. 

"  Come,  don't  get  mad,  miss  !  I  know  you're  not 
mad,  really,  anyway.  When  a  woman's  as  hand 
some  as  you  are,  she  can't  be  bad-natured.  Come 
from  California,  I  suppose  ?  Nice  country  over  there, 
ain't  it?" 

What  with  surprise  and  rage  and  fright,  Grace 
was  very  nearly  frantic.  For  the  moment  she  was 
powerless — her  uncle  in  the  smoking-room,  her  aunt 
locked  up  with  her  Emersonian  meditations,  the  por 
ter  in  the  lobby ;  the  only  available  person  upon  whom 
she  could  call  for  aid  a  horrible  drunken  murderer 
and  robber,  steeped  in  all  the  darkest  crimes  of  the 
frontier!  She  felt  herself  growing  faint,  but  she 
struggled  to  her  feet.  The  drummer  laid  his  hand 
on  her  arm :  "Don't  go  away,  my  dear!  Just  stay 
and  have  a  little  talk.  You  see — " 

But  the  sentence  was  not  finished.  Grace  felt  her 
head  buzzing,  and  then,  from  somewhere  —  a  long 
way  off,  it  seemed — she  heard  a  voice  saying:  "I 


78  A    BORDER    RUFFIAN. 

beg  your  pardon  ;  this  thing  seems  to  be  annoying 
you.  Permit  me  to  remove  it." 

Her  head  cleared  a  little,  for  there  was  a  promise 
of  help  not  only  in  the  words  but  in  the  tone.  And 
then  she  saw  the  desperado  calmly  settle  a  big  hand 
into  the  collar  of  the  little  man's  coat,  lift  him  out 
of  the  seat  and  well  up  into  the  air,  and  so  carry  him 
at  armVlength — kicking  and  struggling,  and  looking 
for  all  the  world  like  a  jumping-jack — out  through 
the  passage-way  at  the  forward  end  of  the  car. 

As  they  disappeared,  she  precipitately  sought  ref 
uge  in  the  state-room — where  Miss  Winthrop  was 
aroused  from  her  serious  contemplation  of  All-per 
vading  Thought  by  a  sudden  and  most  energetic  de 
mand  upon  her  protection  and  her  salts-bottle.  And, 
before  she  could  be  made  in  the  least  degree  to  com 
prehend  why  Grace  should  require  either  the  one  or 
the  other,  Grace  had  still  further  complicated  and 
mystified  the  matter  by  fainting  dead  away. 


III. 

.In  the  course  of  two  or  three  hours  —  aided  by 
Miss  Winthrop's  salts  and  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port's 
travelling-flask  of  peculiar  old  Otard,  which  togeth 
er  contributed  calmness  and  strength,  and  being  re 
freshed  by  a  little  slumber — Grace  was  able  to  ex 
plain  in  an  intelligible  manner  the  adventure  that 
had  befallen  her. 

"And  no  matter  what  dreadful  crimes  that  hor- 


A    BORDER   RUFFIAN.  79 

rible  man  may  have  committed,"  she  said,  in  con 
clusion.  "  I  shall  be  most  grateful  to  him  to  my 
dying  day.  And  I  want  you,  Uncle  Hutchinson,  no 
matter  how  unpleasant  it  may  be  to  you  to  do  so,  to 
thank  him  from  me  for  what  he  did.  And,  oh  !  it 
was  so  funny  to  see  that  detestable  little  impudent 
man  kicking  about  that  way  in  the  air !"  Which 
remembrance,  at  the  same  moment,  of  both  the  ter 
rifying  and  the  ludicrous  side  of  her  recent  exper 
ience,  not  unnaturally  sent  Grace  off  into  hysterics. 

Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  was  quite  ready  to  carry  the 
message  of  thanks  to  the  desperado,  and  to  add  to 
it  some  very  hearty  thanks  of  his  own.  But  his 
good  intentions  could  not  be  realized  ;  the  desperado 
no  longer  was  on  the  train. 

"  Yes,  sah  ;  I  knows  the  gen'l'm  yo'  means,  sah," 
responded  the  porter,  in  answer  to  inquiries.  Pow'tl 
big  gen'l'm  yo'  means,  as  got  on  this  mo'nin'  to  Ve 
gas.  Thet's  th'  one,  sah  !  He'd  some  kind  er  trib- 
bilation  with  th'  little  gen'Pm' — th'  drummer  genTm,' 
as  got  on  las'  night  to  Lamy — an'  he  brought  him 
out,  holdin'  him  like  he  was  a  kitten,  to  the  lobby, 
an'  jus'  set  him  down  an'  boxed  his  ears  till  he  hol 
lered  !  Yes,  sah,  thet's  th'  one.  He  got  off  to  Otero. 
An'  th'  little  man  he  got  off  to  Trinidad,  an'  said  he 
was  agoin'  up  by  the  Denver  to  Pueblo.  Yes,  sah  ; 
they's  both  got  off,  sah!  Thank  yo',  sah!  Get  yo' 
a  pillow,  sah  ?" 


80  A   BOEDER    EUFFIAN. 


IV. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  Miss  Grace  Winthrop 
returned  to  Boston  cherishing  towards  desperadoes 
in  general,  and  towards  the  desperadoes  of  New 
Mexico  in  particular,  sentiments  as  generous  as  they 
were  unusual. 

Miss  Winthrop  the  elder,  whose  soul  was  accus 
tomed  to  a  purer  ether  than  that  in  which  despera 
does  ordinarily  are  found,  presently  forgot  the  vica 
rious  excitements  of  her  journey  eastward  in  the 
calm  joys  of  the  Summer  School  of  Philosophy. 

And  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port  longed  to  be  able  to 
forget  the  whole  State  of  California:  when  he  real 
ized,  as  he  did  with  a  most  bitter  keenness,  that  the 
superficial  charms  of  that  greatly  overrated  region 
had  detained  him  upon  the  Western  coast  until  the 
terrapin  season  was  absolutely  at  an  end ! 


II.— EAST. 

The  Incident  of  the  Mysterious  Stranger,  and  the  Philadelphia 
Dinner-party. 

I. 

Mrs.  Rittenhouse  Smith  had  achieved  righteous 
ness.  That  is  to  say,  being  a  Philadelphian,  she  was 
celebrated  for  giving  successful  dinners.  The  per- 


A   BOEDER    KUFFIAN.  81 

son  who  achieves  celebrity  of  this  sort  in  Philadel 
phia  is  not  unlike  the  seraph  who  attains  to  eminence 
in  the  heavenly  choir. 

It  was  conceded  that  Mr.  Rittenhouse  Smith  (he 
was  one  of  the  Smiths,  of  course — not  the  others. 
His  mother  was  a  Biddle)  was  an  important  factor 
in  his  wife's  success  ;  for,  as  became  a  well-brought- 
up  Philadelphian,  he  attended  personally  to  the 
marketing.  But  had  these  Smith  dinners  been  com 
mendable  only  because  the  food  was  good,  they 
would  not  have  been  at  all  remarkable.  In  Phila 
delphia,  so  far  as  the  eating  is  concerned,  a  bad  din 
ner  seems  to  be  an  impossibility. 

In  truth,  Mrs.  Smith's  dinners  were  famous  be 
cause  they  never  were  marred  by  even  the  slightest 
suggestion  of  a  contretemps;  because  they  glided 
along  smoothly,  and  at  precisely  the  proper  rate  of 
speed,  from  oysters  to  coffee  ;  and,  because — and  to 
accomplish  this  in  Philadelphia  was  to  accomplish 
something  very  little  short  of  a  miracle — they  never 
were  stupid. 

Therefore  it  was  that  Mrs.  Rittenhouse  Smith 
stood  among  the  elect,  with  a  comfortable  sense  of 
security  in  her  election  ;  and  she  smelled  with  a 
satisfied  nose  the  smell  of  the  social  incense  burned 
before  her  shrine  ;  and  she  heard  with  well-pleased 
ears  the  social  hosannas  which  constantly  were  sung 
in  her  praise. 


82  A   BOEDER   EUFFIAN. 


II. 

Occupying  a  position  at  once  so  ornate  and  so  en 
viable,  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Rittenhouse  Smith  may 
be  imagined  upon  finding  herself  confronted  with 
the  tragical  probability  that  one  of  her  most  impor 
tant  dinner-parties  would  be  a  failure. 

In  preparing  for  this  dinner-party  she  had  thought 
deeply  in  the  still  watches  of  the  night,  and  she  had 
pondered  upon  it  in  the  silence  of  noonday.  For 
Mrs.  Smith,  above  all  others,  knew  that  only  by  such 
soulful  vigilance  can  a  perfect  dinner  be  secured.  It 
was  her  desire  that  it  should  be  especially  bright  in 
tellectually,  for  it  was  to  be  given  to  Miss  Winthrop, 
of  Boston,  and  was  to  include  Miss  Winthrop's  niece, 
Miss  Grace  Winthrop,  also  of  Boston.  These  ladies, 
as  she  knew,  belonged  to  clubs  which,  while  modest 
ly  named  after  the  days  of  the  week,  were  devoted 
wholly  to  the  diffusion  of  the  most  exalted  mental 
culture.  Moreover,  they  both  were  on  terms  of  in 
timacy  with  Mr.  Henry  James.  On  the  other  hand, 
it  was  her  desire  that  the  dinner  should  be  perfect 
materially,  because  among  her  guests  was  to  be  Miss 
Grace  Winthrop's  uncle,  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port.  It 
was  sorely  against  Mrs.  Smith's  will  that  Mr.  Hutch 
inson  Port  was  included  in  her  list,  for  he  had  the 
reputation  of  being  the  most  objectionable  diner-out 
in  Philadelphia.  His  conversation  at  table  invaria 
bly  consisted  solely  of  disparaging  remarks,  deliv 
ered  in  an  undertone  to  his. immediate  neighbors, 


A    BOEDER   RUFFIAN.  83 

upon  the  character  and  quality  of  the  food.  How 
ever,  in  the  present  case,  as  Miss  Grace  Winthrop's 
uncle,  he  was  inevitable. 

And,  such  was  Mrs.  Smith's  genius,  she  believed 
that  she  had  mastered  the  situation.  Her  list — ex 
cepting,  of  course,  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  and  he  could 
not  reasonably  be  objected  to  by  his  own  relatives 
— was  all  that  she  could  desire.  The  nine  other 
guests,  she  was  satisfied,  were  such  as  could  be  ex 
hibited  creditably  even  to  ladies  belonging  to  Bos 
ton  clubs  and  personally  acquainted  with  Mr.  Henry 
James.  As  to  the  dinner  itself,  Mr.  Rittenhouse 
Smith,  who  never  spoke  inconsiderately  in  matters 
of  this  grave  nature,  had  agreed  with  her  that — bar 
ring,  of  course,  some  Providentially  interposed  ca 
lamity  such  as  scorching  the  ducks  or  getting  too 
much  salt  in  the  terrapin  —  even  Mr.  Hutchinson 
Port  would  be  unable  to  find  a  flaw  in  it. 

And  now,  at  the  last  moment,  at  twelve  o'clock  of 
the  day  on  which  the  dinner  was  to  take  place,  came 
a  note  from  the  man  upon  whom  she  had  most 
strongly  counted  to  make  the  affair  a  success — the 
brightest  man  on  her  list,  and  the  one  who  was  to 
take  out  Miss  Grace  Winthrop — saying  that  he  was 
laid  up  with  a  frightful  cold  and  face-ache!  He 
tried  to  make  a  joke  of  it,  poor  fellow,  by  adding  a 
sketch  —  he  sketched  quite  nicely  —  of  his  swelled 
cheek  swathed  in  a  handkerchief.  But  Mrs.  Ritten 
house  Smith  was  in  no  humor  for  joking  ;  she  was 
furious  ! 

When  a  woman  misses  fire  in  this  way,  it  usually 


84  A    BOEDER    RUFFIAN. 

is  possible  to  fill  her  place  with  a  convenient  young 
sister,  or  even  with  an  elderly  aunt.  But  when  a 
man  is  wanted,  and,  especially,  as  in  the  case  in  point, 
a  clever  man,  the  matter  very  readily  may  become 
desperate.  Mrs.  Rittenhouse  Smith  certainly  was 
dismayed,  yet  was  she  not  utterly  cast  down.  She 
had  faith  in  her  own  quick  wits,  which  had  rescued 
her  in  times  past  from  other  social  calamities,  though 
never  from  one  darker  than  this,  of  having,  at  a  sin 
gle  fatal  blow,  her  best  man  cut  off  from  one  of  her 
most  important  dinner-parties,  and  the  dinner-party 
itself  reduced  to  thirteen  ;  an  ominous  and  dismal 
number  that  surely  would  be  discovered,  and  that 
would  cast  over  her  feast  a  superstitious  gloom. 

In  this  trying  emergency  Mrs.  Smith  acted  with 
characteristic  decision  and  wisdom.  She  perceived 
that  to  send  invitations  simultaneously  to  all  the  pos 
sible  men  of  her  acquaintance  might  involve  her  in 
still  more  awkward  complications,  while  to  send  in 
vitations  successively  might  result  in  a  fatal  loss  of 
time.  Obviously,  the  only  practicable  course  was  a 
series  of  prompt,  personal  appeals  from  one  to  an 
other,  until  assurance  was  received  that  the  vacant 
place  certainly  would  be  filled.  Therefore  she  de 
spatched  a  note  to  Mr.  Rittenhouse  Smith,  at  his 
down-town  office,  acquainting  him  with  the  impend 
ing  catastrophe  and  bidding  him  drop  all  other  con 
cerns  until  he  had  averted  it  by  securing  a  satisfac 
tory  man. 


A   BORDER   RUFFIAN.  85 


III. 

Now,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  Mr.  Ritten- 
house  Smith  would  have  obeyed  his  wife's  orders 
cheerfully  and  promptly  ;  but  on  this  particular  day 
there  was  a  flurry  in  the  stock-market  (Mr.  Smith 
was  a  stock-broker),  and  every  minute  that  he  was 
away  from  his  office  exposed  him  to  serious  business 
danger.  At  what  he  considered  to  be  the  safest 
moments,  he  made  no  less  than  five  sallies  after  as 
many  different  men  ;  and  three  of  these  had  engage 
ments  for  the  evening,  and  two  of  them  were  out  of 
town.  What  with  the  condition  of  the  stock-mar 
ket  and  the  gloomy  outlook  for  the  dinner-party, 
Mr.  Smith,  albeit  he  was  ordinarily  a  calm,  sedate 
man,  was  almost  distraught. 

Three  o'clock  brought  a  prospect  of  relief,  but 
after  a  day  of  such  active  dealing  his  books  could 
not  be  settled  hurriedly.  In  point  of  fact,  when  at 
last  he  was  able  to  leave  his  Third  Street  office  the 
State  House  clock  was  striking  five  ;  and  the  din 
ner,  in  accordance  with  Philadelphia  custom,  was  to 
be  at  seven  !  He  knew  that  his  wife  had  discharged 
into  his  hands  the  matter  of  procuring  the  needed 
man ;  and  he  knew  that  this  line  of  action  on  her 
part  had  been  both  right  and  wise  ;  but  he  groaned 
in  spirit,  as  he  thought  how  dreadful  a  responsibility 
was  his  ! 

Mr.  Smith  was  a  methodical  man,  and  in  the  calm 
ness  partly  bred  of  his  naturally  orderly  habits,  and 


86  A    BOEDER    KUFFIAN. 

partly  bred  of  his  despair,  he  seated  himself  at  his 
desk,  in  company  with  a  comforting  cigar,  to  think 
of  any  possible  men  whom  he  might  beat  up  at  their 
homes  as  he  went  westward.  While  he  thus  medi 
tated — and  while  blackness  settled  down  upon  his 
soul,  for  of  none  could  he  think  available  for  his 
purpose — he  looked  idly  at  the  list  of  hotel  arrivals 
in  the  morning  paper  that  chanced  to  lie  beside  him  ; 
and  suddenly  he  arose  with  a  great  shout  of  joy,  for 
in  this  list  he  beheld  the  name,  "Van  R.  Living 
stone." 

Here,  indeed,  was  good  -  fortune  at  last !  Van 
Rensselaer  Livingstone  was  in  college  with  him,  in 
his  own  class,  at  Harvard.  They  had  been  capital 
friends  while  their  college  life  lasted  ;  and  although 
Livingstone  had  spent  the  last  ten  or  twelve  years 
in  Europe,  they  had  not  wholly  lost  track  of  each 
other.  Clever,  handsome,  well-born,  and  well-bred, 
he  was  everything  that  the  present  occasion  required. 
He  seemed  to  have  been  sent  from  heaven  direct.  In 
twenty  minutes  Mr.  Smith  was  asking  for  him  at  his 
hotel. 

"  Mr.  Livingstone  ?     Mr.  Livingstone  is  out." 

"Did  he  leave  any  word  as  to  when  he  would 
come  in  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  said  that  a  gentleman  might  call, 
and  to  say  that  he  certainly  would  be  back  at  six, 
and  would  not  go  out  again  to-night." 

Mr.  Smith  looked  at  his  watch — it  was  5 :  30.  Had 
there  been  any  uncertainty  as  to  Livingstone's  re 
turn,  he  would  have  waited.  But  it  was  clear  that 


A    BOEDER    KUFFIAN.  87 

he  was  coming  back  to  dine  at  his  hotel,  and  to  spend 
the  evening  there.  A  note,  therefore,  could  be  trust 
ed  to  do  the  business,  and  by  writing,  instead  of 
waiting,  Mr.  Smith  would  save  half  an  hour  ;  more 
over,  if  he  waited,  he  would  not  have  time  to  make 
the  mayonnaise. 

Probably  it  is  only  in  Philadelphia  that  it  ever  oc 
curs  nowadays  to  the  master  of  a  feast  to  dress  the 
salad  ;  which,  doubtless,  is  the  reason  why  a  better 
salad  is  served  at  certain  dinner-tables  in  Philadel 
phia  than  at  any  other  dinner-tables  in  the  whole 
world. 

The  thought  of  the  mayonnaise  settled  the  mat 
ter.  Mr.  Smith  hastily  wrote  an  account  of  the  try 
ing  situation,  and  concluded  his  note  with  a  solemn 
demand  upon  "dear  old  Van"  to  fill  the  vacant 
place,  "in  the  holy  name  of  the  class  of  '68,  and  for 
love  of  your  old  classmate,  R.  Smith." 


IV. 

Presently  the  person  thus  adjured  returned  to  his 
hotel,  and  with  a  somewhat  puzzled  expression  read 
the  adjuration.  "  R.  Smith,"  he  murmured,  reflect 
ively.  "  I  think  I  do  remember  a  Dicky  Smith,  from 
Philadelphia,  at  Columbia.  But  he  wasn't  in  my 
class,  and  my  class  wasn't  '68,  but  '76,  and  I  don't 
remember  ever  saying  a  dozen  words  to  him.  He's 
got  a  good  deal  of  cheek,  whoever  he  is — and  he, 
and  his  dinner,  and  his  missing  man  may  all  go  to 


88  A   BOEDER    KUFFIAN. 

the  devil  together  !  His  invitation  is  absurd  !"  And 
with  this  ultimatum  Mr.  Livingstone  laid  the  letter 
and  envelope  neatly  together,  preparatory  to  tearing 
them  into  fragments. 

But  before  this  purpose  was  accomplished,  an 
other  view  of  the  situation  came  into  his  mind.  "  I 
don't  see  why  I  shouldn't  go," he  thought.  "I've 
been  muddling  all  day  with  this  wretched  wool  man 
— Avhich  is  a  bore,  even  if  I  have  made  a  pretty  good 
bargain  with  him  for  next  season's  clip  ;  and  Ned 
hasn't  come  to  time,  which  is  another  bore,  for  now 
I'll  have  to  eat  my  dinner  alone.  And  this  Dicky 
Smith  writes  like  a  gentleman,  even  if  he  is  cheeky  ; 
and  he  certainly  seems  to  be  in  a  peck  of  troubles 
about  his  missing  man,  and  his  thirteen  at  table,  and 
the  rest  of  it.  Why,  it's  a  regular  adventure  !  And 
to  think  of  having  an  adventure  in  Philadelphia,  of 
all  places  in  the  world  !  By  Jove,  I'll  go  !" 


Y. 

"  How  very,  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Livingstone, 
to  come  to  our  rescue !"  It  was  Mrs.  Rittenhouse 
Smith  who  spoke,  and  she  spoke  in  a  guarded  tone ; 
for  Livingstone  was  among  the  last  to  arrive,  and 
she  had  no  desire  to  publish  among  her  guests  the 
catastrophe  that  so  nearly  had  overtaken  her. 

"And  I  know,"  she  continued :  "  that  you  will  un 
derstand  how  sorry  I  am  that  this  first  visit  of  Mr. 
Smith's  old  friend  to  our  house  should  be  under  such 


A   BOEDER   KUFFIAN.  89 

peculiar  circumstances.  But  you  will  have  your  re 
ward,  for  you  are  to  take  out  the  very  prettiest  and 
the  very  brightest  girl  here.  Come  and  be  reward 
ed  !"  And  Mrs.  Smith  slipped  her  hand  upon  her 
benefactor's  arm,  and  piloted  him  across  the  room. 

"Miss  Winthrop,  permit  me  to  present  Mr.  Liv 
ingstone.  Miss  Winthrop  is  half  Boston  and  half 
European,  Mr.  Livingstone  ;  and  as  you,  after  these 
ten  years  abroad,  must  be  wholly  European,  you  can 
cheer  each  other  as  fellow  foreigners  in  the  midst 
of  Philadelphia  barbarism" — with  which  pleasant 
speech  the  hostess  turned  quickly  to  receive  the  last 
arrival  (a  man,  of  course ;  only  a  man  would  dare 
to  be  even  near  to  late  at  one  of  Mrs.  Rittenhouse 
Smith's  dinners),  and  then,  standing  beside  the  door 
way,  with  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  marshalled  her  com 
pany  in  to  dinner.  It  was  a  comfort  to  her  to  know 
that  for  once  in  his  fault-finding  life  Mr.  Port  would 
be  compelled,  since  he  was  to  be  seated  beside  his 
hostess,  to  eat  his  food  without  abusing  it. 

Just  at  this  time  two  things  struck  Mrs.  Smith  as 
odd.  One  was  that  as  she  presented  her  handsome 
guest  to  Miss  Grace  Winthrop  she  certainly  had  felt 
him  start,  while  his  arm  had  trembled  curiously  be 
neath  her  hand.  The  other  was  that  as  Mr.  Ritten 
house  Smith  left  the  drawing-room,  passing  close 
beside  her  with  Miss  Winthrop  upon  his  arm,  he 
made  a  face  at  her.  The  first  of  these  phenomena 
struck  her  as  curious.  The  second  struck  her  as 
ominous.  Had  it  been  possible  she  would  have  in 
vestigated  the  cause  of  Mr.  Smith's  facial  demon- 


90  A    BOEDER 

stration.  But  it  was  not  possible.  She  only  could 
breathe  a  silent  prayer  that  all  would  go  well — and 
the  while  sniff  anxiously  to  discover  if  perchance 
there  were  a  smell  of  scorching  duck. 

Mrs.  Smith  would  have  been  still  more  mystified 
could  she  have  been  cognizant  at  this  juncture  of 
her  husband's  and  of  Miss  Grace  Winthrop's  and  of 
Mr.  Livingstone's  thoughts. 

The  first  of  these  was  thinking :  "  It  isn't  Van 
Rensselaer  Livingstone,  any  more  than  I  am;  though 
he  certainly  looks  like  him.  And  I'm  sure  that  he 
knows  that  he  don't  know  me.  And  I  think  that 
we've  managed  to  get  into  a  blank  idiotic  mess !" 

And  the  second  of  these  was  thinking  :  "  If  he's 
been  in  Europe  for  the  past  ten  years,  there's  not 
one  chance  in  fifty  that  I  ever  have  laid  eyes  on 
him.  But  I  know  I  have  !" 

And  the  third  of  these  was  thinking :  "  There 
isn't  a  man  in  the  room  who  looks  enough  like 
Dicky  Smith  to  be  his  tenth  cousin.  But  if  ever  the 
goodness  of  heaven  was  shown  in  the  affairs  of  men 
it  is  shown  here  to  me  to-night !" 


VI 

Even  as  the  sun  triumphs  over  the  darkness  of 
night  and  the  gloom  of  the  tempest,  so  did  Mrs. 
Rittenhouse  Smith's  dinner-party  emerge  radiantly 
from  the  sombre  perils  which  had  beset  it.  It  was 
a  brilliant,  unqualified  success. 


A    BORDER    RUFFIAN.  91 

Miss  Winthrop  was  good  enough  to  say,  when  the 
evening  was  ended — saying  it  in  that  assured,  un 
conscious  way  that  gives  to  the  utterances  of  Boston 
people  so  peculiar  a  charm — "  Really,  Mrs.  Smith, 
you  have  given  me  not  only  a  delightful  dinner,  but 
a  delightful  surprise ;  I  would  not  have  believed, 
had  I  not  seen  it  myself,  that  outside  of  Boston  so 
many  clever  people  could  be  brought  together !" 

And  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  upsetting  all  his  tradi 
tions,  had  kept  up  a  running  fire  of  laudatory  com 
ment  upon  the  dinner  that  had  filled  Mrs.  Smith's 
soul  with  joy.  She  had  expected  him,  being  cut  off 
by  her  presence  from  engaging  in  his  accustomed 
grumbling,  to  maintain  a  moody  silence.  She  had 
not  expected  praise  :  and  she  valued  his  praise  the 
more  because  she  knew  that  he  spoke  out  of  the  ful 
ness  of  his  wisdom ;  and  because  in  a  matter  of  such 
vital  moment  as  eating  she  knew  that  she  could  trust 
him  to  be  sincere.  His  only  approach  to  invidious 
comment  was  in  regard  to  the  terrapin. 

With  the  grave  solemnity  that  marks  the  serving 
of  this  delicacy  in  Philadelphia ;  in  the  midst  of  a 
holy  calm  befitting  a  sacred  rite,  the  silver  vessels 
were  carried  around  the  board,  and  in  hushed  rapt 
ure  (a  little  puzzling  to  the  Bostonians)  the  precious 
mixture  was  ladled  out  upon  the  fourteen  plates ; 
and  Mr.  Hutchinson  Port,  as  the  result  of  many 
years  of  soulful  practice,  was  able  to  secure  to  him 
self  at  one  dexterous  scoop  more  eggs  than  fell  to 
the  lot  of  any  other  two  men. 

It  was  while  rapturously  eating  these  eggs  that 


92  A    BOEDER    RUFFIAN. 

he  spake :  "  My  dear  Mrs.  Smith,  will  you  forgive 
me  if  I  venture  to  suggest,  even  to  you — for  what  I 
have  seen  this  night  has  convinced  me  that  you  are 
one  of  the  very  few  people  who  know  what  a  dinner 
ought  to  be — that  the  Madeira  used  in  dressing  ter 
rapin  cannot  possibly  be  too  old  ?" 


VII. 

Proceeding  in  accordance  with  the  cue  that  Mrs. 
Smith  had  given  her,  Miss  Grace  Winthrop  engaged 
Mr.  Livingstone  in  conversation  upon  European  top 
ics  ;  and  was  somewhat  astonished  to  find,  in  view 
of  his  past  ten  years  in  Europe,  that  they  evidently 
had  very  little  interest  for  him.  And  all  the  while 
that  she  talked  with  him  she  was  haunted  by  the 
conviction  that  she  had  seen  him  somewhere  ;  and 
all  the  while  she  was  aware  of  something  in  his 
manner,  she  could  not  tell  what,  that  seemed  to  im 
ply  that  she  ought  to  know  who  he  was. 

What  Miss  Grace  Winthrop  did  feel  entirely  cer 
tain  about,  however,  was  that  this  was  one  of  the 
cleverest  and  one  of  the  manliest  men  she  had  ever 
come  across.  His  well -shaped  hands  were  big  and 
brown,  and  his  face  was  brown,  and  the  set  of  his  head 
and  the  range  of  his  broad  shoulders  gave  him  an 
alert  look  and  a  certain  air  of  command.  There 
was  that  about  him  which  suggested  a  vigorous  life 
in  the  open  air.  There  was  nothing  to  suggest 
ten  years  in  Europe,  unless  it  were  the  charm  of 


A    BORDER    RUFFIAN.  93 

his  manner,  and  his  neat  way  of  saying  bright 
things. 

As  for  Livingstone,  he  was  as  one  who  at  the 
same  time  is  both  entranced  and  inspired.  He  knew 
that  he  never  had  been  happier  in  his  life ;  he  knew 
that  he  never  had  said  so  many  clever  things  in  so 
short  a  time.  Therefore  it  was  that  these  young  peo 
ple  always  thereafter  were  most  harmoniously  agreed 
that  this  was  the  very  happiest  dinner  that  they  had 
eaten  in  all  their  lives. 

It  came  to  an  end  much  too  soon  for  either  of 
them.  The  ladies  left  the  room,  and  cigars  were  in 
voked  to  fill  their  place.  This  was  the  moment  that 
Livingstone  had  looked  forward  to  as  affording  the 
first  practicable  opportunity  for  taking  his  host  apart 
and  explaining  that  his,  Livingstone's,  presence  at 
that  particular  feast  certainly  must  be  owing  to  some 
mistake.  And  this  was  the  moment  that  Mr.  Smith, 
also,  had  looked  forward  to  as  available  for  clearing 
up  the  mystery — of  which  his  wife  still  was  blissfully 
ignorant — as  to  who  their  stranger  guest  really  was. 
But  the  moment  now  being  come,  Livingstone  weak 
ly  but  deliberately  evaded  it  by  engaging  in  an  ani 
mated  conversation  with  Mr.  Hutch  in  son  Port  in  re 
gard  to  the  precise  number  of  minutes  and  seconds 
that  a  duck  ought  to  remain  before  the  fire  ;  and  Mr. 
Smith — having  partaken  of  his  own  excellent  wines 
and  meats  until  his  whole  being  was  aglow  with  a  be 
nevolent  friendliness — contented  himself  with  think 
ing  that,  no  matter  who  his  guest  was,  he  certainly 
was  a  capital  fellow  ;  and  that  to  cross-question  him 


94  A   BOEDEK    KUFFIAX. 

as  to  his  name,  at  least  until  the  evening  was  at  an 
end,  would  be  a  gross  outrage  upon  the  laws  of  hos 
pitality. 

Livingstone,  however,  had  the  grace  to  feel  a  good 
deal  ashamed  of  himself  as  they  returned  to  the 
drawing-room.  In  all  that  had  gone  before,  he  had 
been  a  victim  of  circumstances.  He  had  an  uncom 
fortable  conviction  that  his  position  now  was  not 
wholly  unlike  that  of  an  impostor.  But  as  he  pushed 
aside  the  portiere  he  beheld  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  which, 
he  flattered  himself,  betrayed  an  expression  of  pleased 
expectancy — and  his  compunctions  vanished. 

There  was  only  a  little  time  left  to  them,  for  the 
evening  was  almost  at  an  end.  Their  talk  came  back 
to  travel.  Did  she  like  travelling  in  America?  he 
asked.  Yes,  she  liked  it  very  much  indeed,  "  only  " 
— as  a  sudden  memory  of  a  past  experience  flashed 
into  her  mind  —  "one  does  sometimes  meet  such 
dreadfully  horrid  people  !" 

They  were  sitting,  as  they  talked,  in  a  narrow 
space  between  a  table  and  the  Avail,  made  narrower 
by  the  presence  of  an  unused  chair.  Just  as  this 
memory  was  aroused,  some  one  tried  to  push  by 
them,  and  Livingstone,  rising,  lifted  the  obstructing 
chair  away.  To  find  a  clear  space  in  which  to  put 
it  down,  he  lifted  it  across  the  table ;  and  for  a  mo 
ment  he  stood  erect,  holding  the  chair  out  before  him 
at  arm's-length. 

When  he  seated  himself  and  turned  again  to  speak 
to  Grace,  he  was  startled  to  find  that  her  face  and 
shoulders,  and  even  her  arms — her  arms  and  shoul- 


A   BORDER    RUFFIAN.  95 

tiers  were  delectable — were  crimson ;  and  in  her  eyes 
be  found  at  last  the  look  of  recognition  that  he  had 
hoped  for  earlier  in  the  evening,  but  that  now  he  had 
ceased  to  expect.  Recognition  of  this  emphatic  sort 
he  certainly  had  not  expected  at  all. 

"You  —  you  see,"  she  said,  "I  al  —  always  have 
thought  that  you  were  a  robber  and  a  murderer,  and 
shocking  things  like  that.  And  I  didn't  really  see 
you  that  day,  except  as  you  walked  away,  holding 
up  that  horrid  little  man,  kicking — just  as  you  held 
up  the  chair.  Can  you  ever,  ever  forgive  me  for 
thinking  such  wicked  things  about  you,  and  for  be 
ing  so  ungrateful  as  not  to  know  you  at  the  very 
first?" 

And  Livingstone,  then  and  later,  succeeded  in  con 
vincing  her  that  he  could. 


VIII. 

By  an  emphatic  whisper  Miss  Grace  Winthrop 
succeeded  in  impressing  upon  her  aunt  the  necessity 
— at  no  matter  what  sacrifice  of  the  social  conven 
tions — of  being  the  last  to  go.  In  the  matter  of 
keeping  Livingstone,  she  experienced  no  difficulty  at 
all.  And  when  the  unnecessary  eight  had  departed, 
she  presented  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  her  deliverer, 
and — in  a  delightfully  hesitating  way — told  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Smith  the  story  of  her  deliverance. 

It  was  when  this  matter  had  been  explained  that 
Livingstone,  who  felt  that  his  position  now  was  ab- 


96  A    BORDER    RUFFIAN. 

soltitely  secure,  brought  up  the  delicate  question  of 
his  own  identity. 

"You  can  understand,  lam  sure,  Mrs.  Smith,"  he 
said,  "how  very  grateful  I  am  to  you  for  this  even 
ing  ;  but,  indeed,  I  don't  think  that  I  am  the  person 
you  meant  to  ask.  And  it  has  occurred  to  me,  from 
something  that  you  said  about  my  having  been  in 
Europe  for  a  good  while,  that  Mr.  Smith  might  have 
meant  his  invitation  for  Van  Rensselaer  Livingstone. 
He's  my  cousin,  you  know  ;  and  he  has  spent  the 
last  ten  years  in  Europe,  and  is  there  yet,  I  fancy. 
But  I  am  Van  Ruyter  Livingstone,  and  if  I  can  be 
said  to  have  a  home  anywhere — except  the  old  home 
in  New  York,  of  course — it  is  on  my  sheep  range  in 
New  Mexico. 

"But  you  won't  be  cruel  enough,  Mrs.  Smith,  after 
letting  me  into  Paradise — even  if  I  did  get  in  by 
mistake — to  turn  me  out  again  ;  will  you?" 

And  Mrs.  Rittenhouse  Smith,  who  was  a  clever 
woman,  as  well  as  a  remarkably  clear-sighted  one, 
replied  that  even  if  she  wanted  to  turn  Mr.  Van 
Ruyter  Livingstone  out  of  Paradise  she  believed 
that  it  was  now  too  late. 


OUR   PIEATE   HOARD. 


I 


MY  great-great-great-uncle  was  one  of  the  many 
sturdy,  honest,  high-spirited  men  to  whom  the  early 
years  of  the  last  century  gave  birth.  He  was  a  brave 
man  and  a  ready  fighter,  yet  was  he  ever  controlled 
in  his  actions  by  so  nice  a  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
others,  and  through  the  strong  fibre  of  his  hardy 
nature  ran  a  strain  of  such  almost  womanly  gentle 
ness  and  tenderness,  that  throughout  the  rather  ex 
ceptionally  wide  circle  of  his  acquaintance  he  was 
very  generally  beloved. 

By  profession  he  was  a  pirate,  and  although  it  is 
not  becoming  in  me,  perhaps,  to  speak  boastingly  of 
a  blood-relation,  I  would  be  doing  his  memory  in 
justice  did  I  not  add  that  he  was  one  of  the  ablest 
and  most  successful  pirates  of  his  time.  His  usual 
cruising-ground  was  between  the  capes  of  the  Ches 
apeake  and  the  lower  end  of  Long  Island ;  yet  now 
and  then,  as  opportunity  offered,  he  would  take  a 
run  to  the  New  England  coast,  and  in  winter  he 
frequently  would  drop  down  to  the  s'uthard  and  do 
a  good  stroke  of  business  off  the  Spanish  Main.  His 
home  station,  however,  was  the  Delaware  coast,  and 
his  family  lived  in  Lewes,  being  quite  the  upper  crust 


100  OUR   PIRATE    HOARD. 

of  Lewes  society  as  it  then  was  constituted.  When 
his  schooner,  the  Martha  Ann,  was  off  duty,  she 
usually  was  harbored  in  Rehoboth  Bay.  That  was 
a  pretty  good  harbor  for  pirate  schooners  in  those 
days. 

My  great-great-great-uncle  threw  himself  into  his 
profession  in  the  hearty  fashion  that  was  to  be  ex 
pected  from  a  man  of  his  sincere,  earnest  character. 
He  toiled  early  and  late  at  sea,  and  on  shore  he  reg 
ulated  the  affairs  of  his  family  so  that  his  expenses 
should  be  well  within  his  large  though  somewhat 
fluctuating  income  ;  and  the  result  of  his  prudence  in 
affairs  was  that  he  saved  the  greater  portion  of  what 
he  earned.  The  people  of  Lewes  respected  him 
greatly,  and  the  boys  of  the  town  were  bidden  to 
emulate  his  steady  business  ways  and  habit  of  thrift. 
He  was,  too,  a  man  of  public  spirit.  At  his  own  cost 
and  charge  he  renewed  the  town  pump;  and  he  pre 
sented  the  church — he  was  a  very  regular  church 
goer  when  on  shore — with  a  large  bell  of  singularly 
sweet  tone  that  had  come  into  his  possession  after  a 
casual  encounter  with  a  Cuban-bound  galleon  off  the 
Bahama  Banks. 

And  yet  when  at  last  my  great-great-great-uncle, 
in  the  fulness  of  his  years  and  virtues,  was  gathered 
to  his  fathers,  and  the  sweet-toned  Spanish  bell  tolled 
his  requiem,  everybody  was  very  much  surprised  to 
find  that  of  the  fine  fortune  accumulated  during  his 
successful  business  career  nothing  worth  speaking  of 
could  be  found.  The  house  that  he  owned  in  Lewes, 
the  handsome  furniture  that  it  contained,  and  a  sea- 


OUE   PIEATE    HOAKD.'     \   ,  101- 

chest  in  which  were  some  odds  a^nd  ends  of  .silver 
ware  (of  a  Spanish  make)  arid  somoVfe-w  pieceS'Of\ 
eight  and  doubloons,  constituted  the  whole  of  his 
visible  wealth. 

For  my  great-great-great-aunt,  with  a  family  of 
five  sons  and  seven  daughters  (including  three  sets 
of  twins)  all  under  eleven  years  of  age,  the  outlook 
was  a  sorry  one.  She  was  puzzled,  too,  to  think  what 
had  gone  with  the  great  fortune  which  certainly  had 
existed,  and  so  was  everybody  else.  The  explana 
tion  that  finally  was  adopted  was  that  my  great- 
great-great-uncle,  in  accordance  with  well  establish 
ed  pirate  usage,  had  buried  his  treasure  somewhere, 
and  had  taken  the  secret  of  its  burial-place  with  him 
to  another  and  a  better  world.  Probability  was  giv 
en  to  this  conjecture  by  the  fact  that  he  had  died  in 
something  of  a  hurry.  He  had  been  brought  ashore 
by  his  men  after  an  unexpected  (and  by  him  unin 
vited)  encounter  with  a  King's  ship  off  the  capes  of 
the  Delaware.  One  of  his  legs  wras  shot  off,  and  his 
head  was  pretty  well  laid  open  by  a  desperate  cutlass 
slash.  He  already  was  in  a  raging  fever,  and  al 
though  the  best  medical  advice  in  Lewes  was  pro 
cured,  he  died  that  very  night.  As  he  lay  dying  his 
talk  was  wild  and  incoherent ;  but  at  the  very  last, 
as  my  great-great-great-aunt  well  remembered,  lie 
suddenly  grew  calm,  straightened  himself  in  the 
bed,  and  said,  with  great  earnestness:  "Sheer  up  the 
plank  midway — " 

That  was  all.  He  did  not  live  to  finish  the  sen 
tence.  At  the  moment,  my  great-great-great-aunt 


,102  OUR   PIRATE    HOARD. 

believed  the  words  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  delir- 
IGUS  vise^of  a  professional  phrase;  and  this  belief  re 
ceived  color  from  the  fact  that  a  little  before,  in  his 
feverish  fancy,  he  had  been  capturing  a  Spanish  gal 
leon,  and  had  got  about  to  the  part  of  the  affair 
where  the  sheering  up  of  a  plank  midway  between 
the  main  and  mizzen  masts,  for  the  accommodation 
of  the  Spaniards  in  leaving  their  vessel,  would  be  ap 
propriate.  Thinking  the  matter  over  calmly  after 
wards,  and  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events,  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  trying  to  tell  her 
how  and  where  his  treasure  was  hid.  Acting  upon 
this  belief,  she  sheered  up  all  the  planks  about  the 
house  that  seemed  at  all  promising.  She  even  had 
the  cellar  dug  up  and  the  well  dragged.  But  not  a 
scrap  of  the  treasure  did  she  ever  find. 

And  the  worst  part  of  it  was,  that  from  that  time 
onward  our  family  had  no  luck  at  all.  Excepting 
my  elderly  cousin,  Gregory  Wilkinson — who  inher 
ited  a  snug  little  fortune  from  his  mother,  and  ex 
panded  it  into  a  very  considerable  fortune  by  build 
ing  up  a  large  manufacture  of  carpet-slippers  for  the 
export  trade — the  rule  in  my  family  has  been  a  re 
spectable  poverty  that  has  just  bordered  upon  actual 
want.  But  all  the  generations  since  my  great-great- 
great-uncle's  time  have  been  cheered,  as  poverty- 
stricken  people  naturally  would  be  cheered,  by  the 
knowledge  that  the  pirate  hoard  was  in  existence ; 
and  by  the  hope  that  some  day  it  would  be  found, 
and  would  make  them  all  enormously  rich  at  a  jump. 
From  the  moment  when  I  first  heard  of  the  treas- 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  103 

ure,  as  a  little  boy,  I  believed  in  it  thoroughly;  and 
I  also  believed  that  I  was  the  member  of  the  family 
destined  to  discover  it. 


II. 


I  was  glad  to  find,  when  I  married  Susan,  that 
she  believed  in  my  destiny  too.  After  talking  the 
matter  over  quite  seriously,  we  decided  that  the  best 
thing  for  us  to  do  was  to  go  and  live  either  in  or 
near  Lewes,  so  that  my  opportunities  for  investiga 
tion  might  be  ample.  I  think,  too,  that  Susan  was 
pleased  with  the  prospect  of  having  a  nice  little 
house  of  our  own,  with  a  cow  and  peach-trees  and 
chickens,  where  we  could  be  very  happy  together. 
Moreover,  she  had  notions  about  house-keeping,  es 
pecially  about  house -keeping  in  the  country,  which 
she  wanted  to  put  into  practice. 

We  found  a  confirmation  of  my  destiny  in  the 
ease  with  which  the  preliminaries  of  my  search  were 
accomplished.  The  house  that  we  wanted  seemed 
to  be  there  just  waiting  for  us  —  a  little  bit  of  a 
house,  well  out  in  the  country,  with  a  couple  of  acres 
of  land  around  it,  the  peach-trees  really  growing,  and 
a  shed  that  the  man  said  would  hold  a  cow  nicely. 
What  I  think  pleased  Susan  most  of  all  was  a  swal 
low's  nest  under  the  eaves,  with  the  mother  swal 
low  sitting  upon  a  brood  of  dear  little  swallows, 
and  the  father  swallow  flying  around  chippering 
like  anything. 


104  OUR   PIKATE    HOARD. 

"Just  think  of  it!"  said  the  dear  child;  "it  is 
like  living  in  a  feudal  castle,  and  having  kestrels 
building  their  nests  on  the  battlements." 

I  did  not  check  her  sweet  enthusiasm  by  asking 
her  to  name  some  particular  feudal  castle  with  a 
frieze  of  kestrels'  nests.  I  kissed  her,  and  said  that 
it  was  very  like  indeed. 

Then  we  examined  the  cow-stable — we  thought  it 
better  to  call  it  a  cow -stable  than  a  shed — and  I 
pulled  out  my  foot-rule  and  measured  it  inside.  It 
was  a  very  little  cow-stable,  but,  as  Susan  suggested, 
if  we  could  not  get  a  small  grown-up  cow  to  fit  it, 
"we  might  begin  with  a  young  cow,  and  teach  her, 
as  she  grew  larger,  to  accommodate  herself  to  her 
quarters  by  standing  cat-a- cornered,  like  the  man  who 
used  to  carry  oxen  up  a  mountain."  Susan's  allu 
sions  are  not  always  very  clearly  stated,  though  her 
meaning,  no  doubt,  always  is  quite  clear  in  her  own 
mind.  I  may  mention  here  that  eventually  we  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  obtain  a  middle-sized  cow  that 
got  along  in  the  stable  very  well.  We  had  a  tidy 
colored  girl  who  did  the  cooking  and  the  rough  part 
of  the  house-work,  and  who  could  milk  like  a  steam- 
engine. 

As  soon  as  we  got  fairly  settled  in  our  little  home 
I  began  to  look  for  my  great -great -great -uncle's 
buried  treasure,  but  I  cannot  say  that  at  first  I  made 
much  progress.  I  could  not  even  find  a  trace  of  my 
great -great -great -uncle's  house  in  Lewes,  and  no 
body  seemed  ever  to  have  heard  of  him.  One  day, 
though,  I  was  so  fortunate  as  to  encounter  a  very 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  105 

old  man — known  generally  about  Lewes  as  Old  Ja 
cob — who  did  remember  "  the  old  pirate,"  as  he  ir 
reverently  called  him,  and  who  showed  me  where  his 
house  had  been.  The  house  had  burned  down  when 
he  was  a  bo}^ — seventy  years  back,  he  thought  it  was 
— and  across  where  it  once  had  stood  a  street  had 
been  opened.  This  put  a  stop  to  my  search  in  that 
direction.  As  Susan  very  justly  observed,  I  could 
not  reasonably  expect  the  Lewres  people  to  let  me 
dig  up  their  streets  like  a  gas -piper  just  on  the 
chance  of  finding  my  family  fortune. 

I  was  not  very  much  depressed  by  this  turn  of 
events,  for  I  was  pretty  certain  in  my  own  mind  that 
my  great-great-great-uncle  had  not  buried  his  treas 
ure  on  his  own  premises.  The  basis  of  this  belief 
was  the  difficulty — that  must  have  been  even  greater 
in  his  time — of  transporting  such  heavy  substances 
as  gold  and  silver  across  the  sandy  region  between 
Lewes  and  where  the  Martha  Ann  used  to  lie  at 
anchor  in  Rehoboth  Bay.  I  reasoned  that,  the  bur 
ial  being  but  temporary,  my  relative  would  have 
been  much  more  likely  to  have  interred  his  valu 
ables  at  some  point  on  the  land  only  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  Martha  Ann's  anchorage.  When  I 
mentioned  this  theory  to  Susan  she  seemed  to  be 
very  much  impressed  by  the  common -sense  of  it, 
and  as  I  have  a  great  respect  for  Susan's  judgment, 
her  acquiescence  in  my  views  strengthened  my  own 
faith  in  them. 

To  pursue  my  search  in  the  neighborhood  of  Re 
hoboth  Bay  it  was  necessary  that  I  should  have  the 


106  OUR   PIRATE    HOARD. 

assistance  of  some  person  thoroughly  familiar  with 
the  coast  thereabouts.  After  thinking  the  matter 
over  I  decided  that  I  could  not  do  better  than  take 
Old  Jacob  into  my  confidence.  So  I  got  the  old 
man  out  to  the  Swallow's  Nest — that  was  the  name 
that  Susan  had  given  our  country  place  :  only  by  the 
time  that  she  had  settled  upon  it  the  little  swallows 
had  grown  up  and  the  whole  swallow  family  had 
gone  away — under  pretence  of  seeing  if  the  cow 
was  all  right  (Old  Jacob  was  a  first-rate  hand  at 
cow  doctoring),  and  while  he  was  looking  at  the  cow 
I  told  him  all  about  the  buried  treasure,  and  how  I 
wanted  him  to  help  me  find  it.  When  I  put  it  in 
his  head  this  way  he  remembered  perfectly  the  story 
that  used  to  be  told  about  the  old  pirate's  mysteri 
ously  lost  fortune,  and  he  entered  with  a  good  deal 
of  spirit  into  my  project  for  getting  it  again.  Of 
course  I  told  him  that  if  we  did  find  it  he  should 
have  a  good  slice  of  it  for  helping  me.  I  told  Susan 
that  I  had  made  this  promise,  and  she  said  that  I  had 
done  exactly  right.  So,  after  we  had  given  him  a 
good  supper,  Old  Jacob  went  back  to  Lewes,  prom 
ising  that  early  the  next  week,  after  he  had  got 
through  a  job  of  boat-painting  which  he  had  on  hand, 
he  would  go  over  with  me,  and  we  would  begin  op 
erations  on  the  bay.  He  seemed  to  think  the  case 
very  promising.  He  said  that  when  he  was  only  a 
tot  of  a  boy  his  father  had  pointed  out  to  him  the 
Martha  Ann's  anchorage,  and  that  he  thought  he 
could  tell  to  within  a  cable's  length  of  where  the 
schooner  used  to  lie.  I  did  not  know  how  long  a 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  107 

cable  was,  but  from  the  tone  in  which  Old  Jacob 
spoke  of  it  I  judged  that  it  must  be  short.  I  felt 
very  well  pleased  with  the  progress  that  I  was  mak 
ing,  and  when  I  told  Susan  all  that  Old  Jacob  had 
told  me,  she  said  that  she  looked  upon  the  whole  mat 
ter  as  being  as  good  as  settled.  Indeed,  she  kept  me 
awake  quite  a  while  that  night  w^hile  she  sketched  the 
outlines  of  the  journey  in  Europe  that  we  would  take 
as  soon  as  I  could  get  my  great-great-great-uncle's 
treasure  dug  up,  and  its  non-interest-bearing  doub 
loons  converted  into  interest-bearing  bonds. 


III. 


The  day  after  I  had  this  talk  with  Old  Jacob  I 
was  rather  surprised  by  getting  a  telegram  from  my 
cousin  Gregory  Wilkinson,  telling  me  that  he  was 
coming  down  to  pay  us  a  visit,  and  would  be  there 
that  afternoon.  I  was  not  as  much  astonished  as  I 
would  have  been  if  the  telegram  had  come  from  any 
body  else,  because  Gregory  Wilkinson  had  a  way  of 
telegraphing  that  he  Avas  going  to  do  things  which 
nobody  expected  him  to  do,  and  I  was  used  to  it. 
Moreover,  I  had  every  reason  for  desiring  to  main 
tain  very  friendly  relations  with  him.  He  had  told 
me  several  times  that  he  had  made  a  will  by  which 
his  large  fortune  was  to  be  divided  between  me  and 
a  certain  Asylum  for  the  Relief  and  Education  of 
Destitute  Red  Indian  Children  that  he  was  very  much 


108  OUK    PIEATE    HOAKD. 

interested  in  ;  and  be  had  more  than  hinted  that  the 
asylum  was  not  the  legatee  that  was  the  more  to  be 
envied.  This  made  me  feel  quite  comfortable  about 
the  remote  future,  but  it  did  not  simplify  the  prob 
lem  of  living  comfortably  in  the  immediate  present. 
My  cousin  was  a  very  tough,  wiry  little  man,  bare 
ly  turned  of  fifty.  There  was  any  quantity  of  life 
left  in  him — his  father,  who  had  been  just  such  an 
other,  had  lived  till  he  was  eighty-nine.  There  was 
not  much  of  a  chance,  therefore,  that  either  the  asy 
lum  or  I  would  receive  anything  from  his  estate  for 
ever  so  long — and  I  may  add  I  was  very  glad,  for 
my  part,  that  things  were  that  way.  Gregory  Wil 
kinson  was  a  first-rate  fellow,  for  all  his  queerness 
and  sudden  ways,  and  I  should  have  been  sorry 
enough  to  have  been  his  chief  heir.  One  reason  why 
I  liked  him  so  much  was  because  he  was  so  fond  of 
Susan.  When  we  were  married — although  he  had 
not  seen  her  then  —  he  sent  her  forks,  and  he  had 
lived  up  to  those  forks  ever  since. 

Susan  was  rather  flustered  when  I  showed  her  the 
telegram  ;  but  she  went  to  work  with  a  will,  and  got 
the  little  spare  room  in  order,  and  stewed  some 
peaches  and  made  some  biscuits  for  supper.  Susan's 
biscuits  were  something  extraordinary.  Gregory 
Wilkinson  came  all  right,  and  after  supper — he  said 
that  it  was  the  nicest  supper  he  had  eaten  in  a  long 
while — sne  did  the  honors  of  the  Swallow's  Nest  in 
the  pretty  way  that  is  her  especial  peculiarity.  She 
showed  him  the  cow-stable,  with  the  cow  in  it,  and 
the  colored  girl  milking  away  in  her  usual  vigorous 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  109 

fashion,  the  chickens,  the  garden,  the  peach  -  trees, 
and  the  nest  under  the  eaves  where  the  swallows 
had  lived  when  we  first  came  there.  Then,  as  it 
grew  dark,  we  sat  on  the  little  veranda  while  we 
smoked  our  cigars — that  is,  Gregory  Wilkinson  and 
I  smoked :  all  that  Susan  did  was  to  try  to  poke 
her  finger  through  the  rings  which  I  blew  towards 
her — and  I  told  why  we  had  come  down  there,  arid 
what  a  good  start  we  had  made  towards  finding  my 
great-great-great-uncle's  buried  money.  And  when 
I  had  got  through,  Susan  told  how,  as  soon  as  I  had 
found  it,  we  were  going  to  Europe. 

We  neither  of  us  thought  that  Gregory  Wilkin 
son  manifested  as  much  enthusiasm  in  the  matter  as 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  demanded ;  but  then, 
as  Susan  pointed  out  to  me,  in  her  usual  clear-head 
ed  way,  it  was  not  reasonable  to  expect  a  man  with 
a  fortune  to  be  as  eager  to  get  one  as  a  man  without 
one  would  be. 

"Very  likely  he'll  give  us  his  share  for  finding 
it,"  said  Susan  ;  "  he  don't  want  it  himself,  and  it 
would  be  dreadful  to  turn  the  heads  of  all  those 
destitute  red  Indian  children  by  leaving  it  to  them." 

I  should  have  mentioned  earlier  that,  so  far  as  we 
knew,  my  cousin  and  I  were  my  great-great-great- 
uncle's  only  surviving  heirs.  The  family  luck  had 
not  held  out  any  especially  strong  temptations  in 
the  way  of  pleasant  things  to  live  for,  and  so  the 
family  gradually  had  died  off.  Whatever  my  search 
should  bring  to  light,  therefore,  would  be  divided 
between  us  two. 


110  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

By  the  time  that  Old  Jacob  got  through  with  his 
boat-painting,  Gregory  Wilkinson  had  gathered  a 
sufficient  interest  in  our  money-digging  to  volunteer 
to  go  along  with  us  to  the  bay.  We  had  a  two- 
seated  wagon,  and  I  took  with  me  several  things 
which  I  thought  might  be  useful  in  an  expedition  of 
this  nature  —  two  spades,  a  pickaxe,  a  crow-bar,  a 
measuring  tape  that  belonged  to  Susan,  an  axe,  and 
a  lantern  (for,  as  Susan  very  truly  said,  we  might 
have  to  do  some  of  our  digging  after  dark).  I  took 
also  a  pulley  and  a  coil  of  rope,  in  case  the  box  of 
treasure  should  prove  so  heavy  that  we  could  not 
otherwise  pull  it  out  from  the  hole.  Old  Jacob 
knew  all  about  rigging  tackle,  and  said  that  we 
could  cut  a  pair  of  sheer-poles  in  the  woods.  We 
were  very  much  encouraged  by  the  confident  way 
in  which  Old  Jacob  talked  about  cutting  sheer- 
poles;  it  sounded  wonderfully  business-like.  Susan, 
of  course,  was  very  desirous  of  going  along,  and  I 
very  much  wanted  to  take  her.  But  as  we  intended 
to  stay  all  night,  in  case  we  did  not  find  the  treasure 
during  our  first  day's  search,  and  as  the  only  place 
where  we  could  sleep  was  an  oysterman's  shanty 
that  Old  Jacob  knew  about,  she  saw  herself  that  it 
would  not  do.  So  she  made  the  best  of  staying  at 
home,  in  her  usual  cheery  fashion,  and  promised,  as 
we  drove  off,  to  have  a  famous  supper  ready  for  us 
the  next  night  —  when  we  would  come  home  with 
our  wagon-load  of  silver  and  gold. 

It  was  a  long,  hot,  dusty  drive,  and  the  mosquitoes 
were  pretty  bad  as  we  drew  near  the  coast.  But  we 


OUR   PIRATE    HOAED.  Ill 

were  cheered  by  the  thought  of  the  fortune  that  was 
so  nearly  ours,  and  we  smoked  our  pipes  at  the  mos 
quitoes  in  a  way  that  astonished  them.  After  we 
had  taken  out  the  horses  and  had  eaten  our  dinner 
(Susan  had  put  us  up  a  great  basket  of  provisions, 
with  two  of  her  own  delicious  peach  pies  on  top)  we 
walked  down  to  the  bay-side,  with  Old  Jacob  lead 
ing,  to  look  for  the  place  where  the  Martha  Ann 
used  to  anchor.  I  took  the  tape-measure  along,  both 
because  it  might  be  useful,  and  because  it  made  me 
think  of  Susan. 

I  was  sorry  to  find  that  the  clearer  the  lay  of  the 
land  and  water  became,  the  more  indistinct  grew 
Old  Jacob's  remembrance  of  where  his  father  had 
told  him  that  the  schooner  used  to  lie. 

"It  mought  hev  ben  about  here,"  he  said,  point 
ing  across  to  a  little  bay  some  way  off  on  our  left ; 
"an'  agin  it  mought  hev  ben  about  thar,"  with  a 
wave  of  his  hand  towards  a  low  point  of  land  nearly 
half  a  mile  off  on  our  right;  "an'  agin  it  mought 
hev  ben  sorter  atwixt  an'  atween  'em.  Here  or  here 
abouts,  thct's  w'at  I  say ;  here  or  hereabouts,  sure." 

Now  this  was  perplexing.  My  plan,  based  upon 
Old  Jacob's  assurance  that  he  could  locate  the  an 
chorage  precisely,  was  to  hunt  near  the  shore  for 
likely-looking  places  and  dig  them  up,  one  after  an 
other,  until  we  found  the  treasure.  But  to  dig  up 
all  the  places  where  treasure  might  be  buried  along 
a  whole  mile  of  coast  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  We 
implored  Old  Jacob  to  brush  up  his  memory,  to  look 
attentively  at  the  shape  of  the  coast,  and  to  try  to 


112  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

fix  definitely  the  spot  off  which  the  schooner  had 
lain.  But  the  more  that  he  tried,  the  more  confus 
ing  did  his  statements  become.  Just  as  he  would 
settle  positively  —  after  much  thinking  and  much 
looking  at  the  sun  and  the  coast  line — on  a  particu 
lar  spot,  doubts  would  arise  in  his  mind  as  to  the 
correctness  of  his  location  ;  and  these  doubts  pres 
ently  would  resolve  themselves  into  the  certainty 
that  he  was  all  wrong.  Then  the  process  of  think 
ing  and  looking  would  begin  all  over  again,  only 
again  to  come  to  the  same  disheartening  end.  The 
short  and  long  of  the  matter  was  that  we  spent  all 
that  day  and  a  good  part  of  the  next  in  wandering 
along  the  bay -side  in  Old  Jacob's  wake,  while  he 
made  and  unmade  his  locations  at  the  rate  of  about 
three  an  hour.  At  last  I  looked  at  Gregory  Wilkin 
son  and  Gregory  Wilkinson  looked  at  me,  and  we 
both  nodded.  Then  we  told  Old  Jacob  that  we 
guessed  we'd  better  hitch  up  the  horses  and  drive 
home.  It  made  us  pretty  dismal,  after  all  our  hopes, 
to  hitch  up  the  horses  and  drive  home  that  way. 

My  heart  ached  when  I  saw  Susan  leaning  over 
the  front  gate  watching  for  us  as  we  drove  up  the 
road.  The  wind  was  setting  down  towards  us,  and 
I  could  smell  the  coffee  that  she  had  put  on  the  fire 
to  boil  as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  us — Susan 
made  coffee  splendidly — and  I  knew  that  she  had 
kept  her  promise,  and  had  ready  the  feast  that  was 
to  celebrate  our  success ;  and  that  made  it  all  the 
dismaller  that  we  hadn't  any  success  to  celebrate. 

When  I  told  her  how  badly  the  expedition  had 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  113 

turned  out  she  came  very  near  crying  ;  but  she  gave 
a  sort  of  gulp,  and  then  laughed  instead,  and  did 
what  she  could  to  make  things  pleasant  for  us.  We 
had  our  feast,  but  notwithstanding  Susan's  effort  to 
be  cheerful,  it  was  about  as  dreary  a  feast  as  I  ever 
had  anything  to  do  with.  We  brought  Old  Jacob 
in  and  let  him  feast  with  us  ;  and  he,  to  do  him. 
justice,  was  not  dreary  at  all.  He  seemed  to  enjoy 
it  thoroughly.  Indeed,  the  most  trying  part  of  that 
sorrowful  supper-party  was  the  way  in  which  Old 
Jacob  recovered  his  spirits  and  declared  at  short  in 
tervals  that  his  memory  now  was  all  right  again. 
He  even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  with  his  eyes 
blindfolded  and  in  the  dark  he  could  lead  us  to  the 
precise  spot  off  which  the  schooner  used  to  lie. 

Susan  was  disposed  to  regard  these  assertions 
hopefully  ;  but  we,  who  had  been  fumbling  about 
with  him  for  two  days,  well  understood  their  base 
lessness.  It  was  not  Old  Jacob's  fault,  of  course, 
but  his  defective  memory  certainly  was  dreadfully 
provoking.  Here  was  an  enormous  fortune  slipping 
through  our  fingers  just  because  this  old  man  could 
not  remember  a  little  matter  about  where  a  schooner 
had  been  anchored. 

After  he  had  eaten  all  the  supper  that  he  could 
hold — which  was  a  good  deal — and  had  gone  home, 
we  told  Susan  the  whole  dismal  story  of  how  our 
expedition  had  proved  to  be  a  total  failure.  It  was 
best,  we  thought,  not  to  mince  matters  with  her  ;  and 
we  stated  minutely  how  time  after  time  the  anch 
orage  of  the  schooner  had  been  precisely  located, 


114  OUR    TIE  ATE    HOARD. 

and  then  in  a  little  while  had  been  unlocated  again. 
She  saw,  as  we  did,  that  as  a  clew  Old  Jacob  was 
not  much  of  a  success,  and  also  that  he  was  about 
the  only  thing  in  the  least  like  a  clew  that  we  pos 
sessed.  Realizing  this  latter  fact,  and  knowing  that 
his  great  age  made  his  death  probable  at  any  mo 
ment,  Susan  strongly  advised  me,  in  her  clear-sight 
ed  way,  to  have  him  photographed. 


IV. 


Gregory  Wilkinson  seemed  to  find  himself  quite 
comfortable  in  our  little  home,  and  settled  down 
there  into  a  sort  of  permanency.  We  were  glad  to 
have  him  stay  with  us,  for  he  was  a  first-rate  fellow, 
and  always  good  company  in  his  pleasant,  quiet  way, 
and  he  told  us  two  or  three  times  that  he  was  enjoy 
ing  himself.  He  told  me  a  great  many  more  than 
two  or  three  times  that  he  considered  Susan  to  be  a 
wonderfully  fine  woman  ;  indeed,  he  told  me  this  at 
least  once  every  day,  and  sometimes  oftener.  He 
was  greatly  struck — just  as  everybody  is  who  lives 
for  any  length  of  time  in  the  same  house  with  Susan 
— by  her  capable  ways,  and  by  her  unfailing  equa 
nimity  and  sweetness  of  temper.  Even  when  the 
colored  girl  fell  down  the  well,  carrying  the  rope 
and  the  bucket  along  with  her,  Susan  was  not  a  bit 
flustered.  She  told  me  just  where  I  would  find  the 
clothes-line  and  a  big  meat-hook ;  and  when,  with 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  115 

this  hastily-improvised  apparatus,  we  had  fished  the 
colored  girl  up  and  got  her  safely  on  dry  land  again, 
she  knew  exactly  what  to  do  to  make  her  all  right 
and  comfortable.  As  Gregory  Wilkinson  observed 
to  me,  after  it  was  all  over,  from  the  way  that  Susan 
behaved,  any  one  might  have  thought  that  hooking 
colored  girls  up  out  of  wells  was  her  regular  busi 
ness. 

As  to  making  Susan  angry,  that  simply  was  im 
possible.  When  things  went  desperately  wrong  with 
her  in  any  way  she  would  just  come  right  to  me  and 
cry  a  little  on  my  shoulder.  Then,  when  I  had  com 
forted  her,  she  would  chipper  up  and  be  all  right 
again  in  no  time.  Gregory  Wilkinson  happened  to 
come  in  one  day  while  a  performance  of  this  sort 
was  going  on,  and  for  fear  that  he  should  think  it 
odd  Susan  explained  to  him  that  it  was  a  habit  of 
hers  when  things  very  much  worried  her  and  she  felt 
like  being  ugly  to  people.  (The  trouble  that  day 
was  that  the  colored  girl,  who  had  a  wonderful  fac 
ulty  for  stirring  up  tribulation,  had  broken  an  India 
china  teacup  that  had  belonged  to  Susan's  grand 
mother,  and  that  Susan  had  thought  the  world  of.) 
That  evening,  while  we  were  sitting  on  the  veranda 
smoking,  and  before  Susan,  who  was  helping  clear 
the  supper-table,  had  joined  us,  Gregory  Wilkinson 
said  to  me,  with  even  more  emphasis  than  usual, 
that  Susan  was  the  finest  woman  he  had  ever  known  ; 
and  he  added  that  he  was  very  sorry  that  when  he 
was  my  age  he  had  not  met  and  married  just  such 
another. 


116  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

He  and  I  talked  a  crood  deal  at  odd  times  about 

O 

the  money  that  our  great-great-great-uncle  the  pi 
rate  had  buried,  and  that  through  all  these  years 
had  stayed  buried  so  persistently.  He  did  not  take 
much  interest  in  the  matter  personally,  but  for  rny 
sake,  and  still  more  for  Susan's  sake,  he  was  begin 
ning  to  be  quite  anxious  that  the  money  should  be 
found.  He  even  suggested  that  we  should  take  Old 
Jacob  over  to  the  bay-side  and  let  him  try  again  to 
find  the  Martha  Ami's  anchorage  ;  but  a  little  talk 
convinced  us  that  this  would  be  useless.  The  old 
man  had  been  given  every  opportunity,  during  the 
two  days  that  we  had  cruised  about  with  him,  to  re 
fresh  his  memory;  and  we  both  had  been  the  pained 
witnesses  of  the  curious  psychological  fact  that  the 
more  he  refreshed  it,  the  more  utterly  unmanageable 
it  had  become.  The  prospect,  we  agreed,  was  a  dis 
heartening  one,  for  it  was  quite  evident  that  for  our 
purposes  Old  Jacob  was,  as  it  were,  but  an  elderly, 
broken  reed. 

About  this  time  I  noticed  that  Gregory  Wilkinson 
was  unusually  silent,  and  seemed  to  be  thinking  a 
great  deal  about  something.  At  first  we  were  afraid 
that  he  was  not  quite  well,  and  Susan  offered  him 
both  her  prepared  mustard  plasters  and  her  headache 
powders.  But  he  said  that  he  was  all  right,  though 
he  was  very  much  obliged  to  her.  Still,  he  kept  on 
thinking,  and  he  was  so  silent  and  preoccupied  that 
Susan  and  I  were  very  uncomfortable.  To  have  him 
around  that  way,  and  to  be  always  wondering  what 
he  could  possibly  be  thinking  about,  Susan  said,  made 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  117 

her  feel  as  though  she  were  trying  to  eavesdrop  when 
nobody  was  talking. 

One  afternoon  while  we  were  sitting  on  the  veran 
da — Susan  and  I  trying  to  keep  up  some  sort  of  a 
conversation,  and  Gregory  Wilkinson  thinking  away 
as  hard  as  ever  he  could  think  —  a  thin  man  in  a 
buggy  drove  down  the  road  and  stopped  at  our  hitch- 
ing-post.  When  he  had  hitched  his  horse  he  took 
out  from  the  after-part  of  the  buggy  a  large  tin  ves 
sel  standing  on  light  iron  legs,  and  came  up  to  the 
house  with  it.  He  made  us  all  a  sort  of  comprehen 
sive  bow,  but  stopped  in  front  of  Susan,  set  the  tin 
vessel  upon  its  legs,  and  said  : 

"  Madam,  you  behold  before  you  the  most  econom 
ical  device  and  the  greatest  labor-saving  invention  of 
this  extraordinarily  devicious  and  richly  inventive 
age.  This  article,  madam" — and  he  placed  his  hand 
upon  the  tin  vessel  affectionately — "  is  Stowe's  pat 
ent  combination  interchangeable  churn  and  wash- 
boiler." 

Susan  did  not  say  anything;  she  simply  shud 
dered. 

"As  at  present  arranged,  madam,"  the  man  went 
on,  "it  is  a  churn.  Standing  thus  upon  these  light 
yet  firm  legs"  (the  thing  wobbled  outrageously), 
"  with  this  serviceable  handle  projecting  from  the 
top,  and  communicating  with  an  exceptionally  ef 
fective  churning  apparatus  within,  it  is  beyond  all 
doubt  the  very  best  churn,  as  well  as  the  cheapest, 
now  offered  on  the  American  market.  But  observe, 
madam,  that  as  a  wash-boiler  it  is  not  less  excellent. 


118  OUR   PIRATE    HOARD. 

By  the  simple  process  of  removing  the  handle,  tak 
ing  out  the  dasher,  and  unshipping  the  legs — the 
work,  as  you  perceive,  of  but  a  moment^-the  process 
of  transformation  is  complete.  As  to  the  trifling  ori 
fice  that  the  removal  of  the  handle  leaves  in  the  lid, 
it  becomes,  when  the  wash-boiler  side  of  this  Pro 
tean  vessel  is  uppermost,  a  positive  benefit.  It  is  an 
effective  safety-valve.  Without  it,  I  am  not  pre 
pared  to  say  that  the  boiler  would  not  burst,  scat 
tering  around  it  the  scalded,  mangled  remains  of 
your  washer- woman  and  utterly  ruining  your  week's 
wash. 

"And  mark,  madam,  mark  most  of  all,  the  econo 
my  of  this  invention.  I  need  not  say  to  you,  a  house 
keeper  of  knowledge  and  experience,  that  churning- 
day  and  wash-day  stand  separate  and  distinct  upon 
your  household  calendar.  Under  no  circumstances 
is  it  conceivable  that  the  churn  and  the  wash-boiler 
shall  be  required  for  use  upon  the  same  day.  Clear 
ly  the  use  of  the  one  presupposes  and  compels  the 
neglect  of  the  other.  Then  why  cumber  your  house 
with  these  two  articles,  equally  large  and  equally 
unwieldly,  when,  by  means  of  the  beautiful  invention 
that  I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to  your  notice, 
the  two  in  one  can  be  united,  and  money  and  house- 
room  alike  can  be  saved  ?  I  trust,  madam,  I  believe, 
that  I  have  said  enough  to  convince  you  that  my  ar 
ticle  is  all  that  fancy  can  paint  or  bright  hope  in 
spire  ;  that  in  every  household  made  glad  by  its 
presence  it  will  be  regarded  always  and  forever  as  a 
heaven-given  boon!"  Suddenly  dropping  his  rhe- 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  119 

torical  tone  and  coming  down  to  the  tone  of  busi 
ness,  the  man  went  on  :  "You'll  buy  one,  won't  you? 
The  price—" 

The  change  of  tone  seemed  to  arouse  Susan  from 
the  spellbound  condition  in  which  she  had  remained 
during  this  extraordinary  harangue. 

"  O-o-o-oh  !"  she  said,  shudderingly,  "do  take  the 
horrid,  horrid  thing  right  away  !"  Then  she  fled 
into  the  house. 

I  was  very  angry  at  the  man  for  disturbing  Susan 
in  this  way,  and  I  told  him  so  pretty  plainly  ;  and  I 
also  told  him  to  get  out.  At  this  juncture,  to  my 
astonishment,  Gregory  Wilkinson  interposed  by  ask 
ing  what  the  thing  was  worth  ;  and  when  the  man 
said  five  dollars,  he  said  that  he  would  buy  it.  The 
man  had  manifested  a  disposition  to  be  ugly  while 
I  was  giving  him  his  talking  to,  but  when  he  found 
that  he  had  made  a  sale,  after  all,  he  grew  civil  again. 
As  he  went  off  he  expressed  the  hope  that  the  lady 
would  be  all  right  presently,  and  the  conviction  that 
she  would  find  the  combination  churn  and  wash-boil 
er  a  household  blessing  that  probably  would  add  ten 
years  to  her  life. 

"What  on  earth  did  you  buy  that  for?"  I  asked, 
when  the  man  had  gone. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  It  seems  to  be  a  pretty  good 
wash  -  boiler,  anyway.  I  heard  your  wife  say  the 
other  day  that  she  wanted  a  wash  -  boiler.  She 
needn't  use  it  as  a  churn  if  she  don't  want  to,  you 
know." 

"  But  my  wife  never  will  tolerate  that  disgusting 


120  CUE    PIRATE    HOARD. 

thing,  with  its  horrid  suggestiveness  of  worse  than 
Irish  uncleanliness,  about  the  house,"  I  went  on, 
rather  hotly.  "I  really  must  beg  of  you  to  send  it 
away." 

"  All  right,"  he  answered.  "  I'll  take  it  away. 
I'm  going  to  New  York  to-morrow,  and  I'll  take  it 
along." 

"And  what  ever  will  you  do  with  it  in  New 
York  ?»  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  positively  yet,  but  I  guess  I'll 
send  it  out  to  the  asylum.  They'd  be  glad  to  get  it 
there,  I  don't  doubt — not  as  a  churn,  you  know,  but 
for  wash-boiling." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  one  of  the  things 
that  he  especially  wanted  done  at  the  asylum  with 
his  legacy  was  the  construction  of  a  steam-laundry, 
with  a  thing  in  the  middle  that  went  round  and 
round,  and  dried  the  clothes  by  centrifugal  pressure. 
lie  explained  that  the  asylum  was  only  just  starting 
as  an  asylum,  and  was  provided  not  only  with  very 
few  destitute  red  Indian  children,  but  also  with  very 
few  of  the  appliances  which  an  institution  of  that 
sort  requires,  and  that  was  the  reason  why  he  had 
selected  it,  in  preference  to  many  other  very  deserv 
ing  charities,  to  leave  his  money  to. 

I  must  say  that  I  was  glad  to  hear  him  talking  in 
this  strain,  for  his  sudden  announcement  of  his  in 
tended  departure  for  New  York,  just  after  I  had 
spoken  so  warmly  to  him,  made  me  fear  that  I  had 
offended  him.  But  it  was  clear  that  I  hadn't,  and 
that  his  going  off  in  this  unexpected  fashion  did  not 


OUR   PIRATE    HOARD.  121 

mean  anything.     He  always  did  have  a  fancy  for 
doing  things  suddenly. 

Susan  was  worried  about  it,  in  just  the  same  way, 
when  I  told  her  ;  but  she  ended  by  agreeing  with  me 
that  he  was  not  in  the  least  offended  at  anything.  In 
deed,  that  evening  we  both  were  very  much  pleased 
to  notice  what  good  spirits  he  was  in.  His  preoccu 
pied  manner  was  entirely  gone,  and,  for  him,  he  was 
positively  lively.  Evidently,  whatever  the  thing  was 
that  he  had  been  thinking  about  so  hard,  he  had 
settled  it  in  a  way  that  satisfied  him. 

Just  as  we  were  going  to  bed  he  told  me,  in  what 
struck  me  at  the  time  as  rather  an  odd  tone,  that  he 
was  under  the  impression  that  he  had  somewhere  a 
chest  full  of  old  family  papers,  and  that  possibly 
among  these  papers  there  might  be  something  that 
would  tell  me  how  to  find  the  fortune  that  Susan 
and  I  certainly  deserved  to  have.  As  he  said  this 
he  laughed  in  a  queer  sort  of  way,  and  then  he 
looked  at  Susan  very  affectionately,  and  then  he 
took  each  of  us  by  the  hand. 

"  Oh  !"  said  Susan,  rapturously  (when  Susan  is  ex 
cited  she  always  begins  what  she  has  to  say  with  an 
"  Oh  !"  I  like  it).  "  To  think  of  finding  a  piece  of 
old  yellow  parchment  with  a  quite  undecipherable 
cryptogram  written  on  it  in  invisible  ink  telling  us 
just  where  we  ought  to  dig  !  How  perfectly  lovely  ! 
Why  didn't  you  think  of  it  sooner  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  been  neither  more  nor  less  than 
a  blind  old  fool.  And — and  I  have  to  thank  you, 
my  dear,"  he  continued,  still  speaking  in  the  queer 


122  OUR   PIEATE    HOAKD. 

tone,  "  for  having  effectually  opened  my  eyes."  As 
he  made  this  self -derogatory  and  quite  incompre 
hensible  statement  he  turned  to  Susan,  kissed  her  in 
a  great  hurry,  shook  our  hands  warmly,  said  good 
night,  and  trotted  off  up-stairs  to  his  room.  His  con 
duct  was  very  extraordinary.  But  then,  as  I  have 
already  mentioned,  Gregory  Wilkinson  had  a  way  of 
always  doing  just  the  things  which  nobody  expected 
him  to  do. 

He  had  settled  back  into  his  ordinary  manner  by 
morning  ;  at  least  he  was  not  much  queerer  than 
usual,  and  bade  us  good-bye  cheerily  at  the  Lewes 
railway  station.  I  had  hired  a  light  wagon  and 
had  driven  him  over  in  time  for  the  early  train, 
bringing  Susan  along,  so  that  she  might  see  the  last 
of  him.  What  with  all  three  of  us,  his  trunk  and 
valise,  and  the  churn-wash-boiler,  we  had  a  wagon- 
load. 

Susan  was  horrified  at  the  thought  of  his  giving 
the  churn-wash-boiler  to  the  asylum.  "  Even  if  they 
only  are  allowed  to  use  it  as  a  wash-boiler,"  she  ar 
gued,  earnestly,  "  think  what  dreadful  ideas  of  un 
tidiness  it  will  put  into  those  destitute  red  Indian 
children's  heads ! — ideas,"  she  went  on,  "  which  will 
only  tend  to  make  them  disgrace  instead  of  doing 
credit  to  the  position  of  easy  affluence  to  which  your 
legacy  will  lift  them  when  they  return  to  their  bar 
baric  wilds.  If  you  must  give  it  to  them,  at  least 
conceal  from  them  —  I  beg  of  you,  conceal  from 
them — the  fatal  fact  that  it  ever  was  meant  to  be  a 
churn  too." 


OUK    PIEATE    HOARD.  123 

Gregory  Wilkinson  promised  Susan  that  he  would 
conceal  this  fact  from  the  destitute  red  Indian  chil 
dren  ;  and  then  the  train  started,  and  he  and  the 
churn- wash-boiler  were  whisked  away.  We  really 
were  very  sorry  to  part  with  him. 


V. 


Two  or  three  days  later  I  happened  to  meet  Old 
Jacob  as  I  was  coming  away  from  the  post-office  in 
Lewes,  and  I  was  both  pained  and  surprised  to  per 
ceive  that  the  old  man  was  partially  intoxicated. 
When  he  caught  sight  of  me  he  came  at  me  with 
such  a  lurch  that  had  I  not  caught  him  by  the  arm 
he  certainly  would  have  fallen  to  the  ground.  At 
first  he  resented  this  friendly  act  on  my  part,  but 
in  a  moment  he  forgot  his  anger  and  insisted  upon 
shaking  hands  with  me  with  most  energetic  warmth. 
Then  he  swayed  his  lips  up  to  my  ear,  and  asked  in 
a  hoarse  whisper  if  that  old  cousin  chap  of  mine  had 
got  home  safely  the  night  before ;  and  wanted  to 
know,  with  a  most  mysterious  wink,  if  things  was 
all  right  now. 

I  was  grieved  at  finding  Old  Jacob  in  this  un 
seemly  condition,  and  I  also  was  ruffled  by  his  very 
rude  reference  to  my  cousin.  I  endeavored  to  dis 
engage  my  hand  from  his,  and  replied  with  some 
dignity  that  Mr.  Wilkinson  at  present  was  in  New 
York,  whither  he  had  returned  several  days  previ- 


124  OUK    PIKATE    HOARD. 

ously.  But  Old  Jacob  declined  to  relinquish  my 
hand,  and,  with  more  mysterious  winks,  declared  in 
a  muzzy  voice  that  I  might  trust  him,  and  that  I 
needn't  say  that  my  cousin  was  in  New  York,  when 
he  and  him  had  been  a-ridin'  around  together  to  the 
bay  and  back  ag'in  only  the  day  before.  And  then 
he  went  off  into  a  rambling  account  of  this  expedi 
tion,  which  in  its  main  features  resembled  the  ex 
pedition  that  we  all  three  had  taken  together,  but 
which  displayed  certain  curious  details  as  it  ad 
vanced  that  I  could  not  at  all  account  for.  By  all 
odds  the  most  curious  of  these  details  was  that  they 
had  taken  along  with  them  a  large  tin  vessel,  Old 
Jacob's  description  of  which  tallied  strangely  close 
ly  with  that  of  the  churn-wash-boiler,  and  that  they 
had  left  it  behind  them  when  they  returned.  But 
as  he  mixed  this  up  with  a  lot  of  stuff  about  having 
shown  my  cousin  the  course  of  an  old  creek  that  a 
storm  had  filled  with  sand  fifty  years  and  more  be 
fore,  I  could  not  make  head  nor  tail  of  it. 

Yet  somehow  there  really  did  seem  to  be  more 
than  mere  drunken  fancy  in  what  he  was  telling 
me ;  for  in  spite  of  his  muzzy  way  of  telling  it,  his 
story  had  about  it  a  curious  air  of  truth  ;  and  yet  it 
all  was  so  utterly  preposterous  that  belief  in  it  was 
quite  out  of  the  question.  To  make  matters  worse, 
when  I  begged  the  old  man  to  try  to  remember  very 
carefully  whether  or  not  he  really  had  made  a  second 
trip  to  the  bay,  or  only  was  telling  me  about  the 
trip  that  the  three  of  us  had  made  together,  he  sud 
denly  got  very  angry,  and  said  that  he  supposed  I 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  125 

thought  he  was  drunk,  and  if  anybody  was  drunk  I 
was,  and  he'd  fight  me  for  five  cents  any  time.  And 
then  he  began  to  shake  his  old  fists  at  me,  and  to  go 
on  in  such  a  boisterous  way  that,  in  order  to  avoid  a 
very  unpleasant  scene  upon  the  public  streets,  I  had 
to  leave  him  and  come  home. 

When  I  told  Susan  the  queer  story  that  Old  Jacob 
had  told  me  she  was  as  much  perplexed  and  dis 
turbed  by  it  as  I  was.  To  think  of  Gregory  Wil 
kinson  driving  around  the  lower  part  of  the  State  of 
Delaware  in  this  secret  sort  of  way,  in  company 
with  Old  Jacob  and  the  churn-wash-boiler,  as  she 
very  truly  said,  was  like  a  horrible  dream  ;  and  she 
asked  me  to  pinch  her  to  make  sure  that  it  wasn't. 

"But  even  pinching  me  don't  prove  anything," 
she  said,  wrhen  I  had  performed  that  office  for  her. 
"  For — don't  you  see  ? — I  might  dream  that  I  was 
dreaming,  and  asked  you  to  pinch  me,  and  that  you 
did  it ;  and  I  suppose,"  she  went  on,  meditatively, 
"  that  I  might  even  dream  that  I  woke  up  when  you 
pinched  me,  and  yet  that  I  might  be  sound  asleep 
all  the  while.  It  really  is  dreadfully  confusing, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  this  way  in  which 
you  can  have  dreams  inside  of  each  other,  like  lit 
tle  Chinese  boxes,  and  never  truly  know  whether 
you're  asleep  or  awake.  I  don't  like  it  at  all." 

Without  meaning  to,  Susan  frequently  talks  quite 
in  the  manner  of  a  German  metaphysician. 

The  next  day  we  recived  a  letter  from  Gregory 
Wilkinson  that  we  hoped,  as  we  opened  it,  would 
clear  up  the  mystery.  But  before  we  had  finished 


126  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

it  we  were  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  we 
quite  forgot  that  there  was  any  mystery  to  clear 
up.  My  cousin  wrote  from  his  home  in  Kew  York, 
and  made  no  allusion  whatever  to  a  second  visit 
to  Lewes,  still  less  to  a  second  expedition  with  Old 
Jacob  to  Rehoboth  Bay.  After  speaking  very  nicely 
of  the  pleasant  time  that  he  had  passed  with  us,  he 
continued  : 

"  I  enclose  a  memorandum  that  seems  to  have  a 
bearing  upon  the  whereabouts  of  the  hidden  family 
fortune.  I  am  sorry,  for  Susan's  sake,  that  it  is 
neither  invisible  nor  undecipherable  ;  but  I  think 
that  for  practical  purposes  visible  ink  and  readable 
English  are  more  useful.  I  advise  you  to  attend  to 
the  matter  at  once.  It  may  rain." 

The  enclosure  was  a  scrap  of  paper,  so  brown  with 
age  that  it  looked  as  though  it  had  been  dipped  in 
coffee,  on  which  was  written,  in  astonishingly  black 
ink,  this  brief  but  clear  direction  : 

Sheer  uppe  ye  plaiike  midwai  atween  ye  oake  and 
ye  hiccorie  saplyngs  7  fathom  JEst  of  Pequinky  crik 
on  ye  baye.  Ytte  is  all  there. 

There  was  no  date,  no  signature,  to  this  paper,  but 
neither  Susan  nor  I  doubted  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  the  clew  to  my  great-great-great-uncle's  missing 
fortune.  With  a  heart  almost  too  full  for  utterance, 
Susan  went  straight  across  the  room  to  the  big  dic 
tionary  (Gregory  Wilkinson  had  given  it  to  us  at 
Christmas,  with  a  handy  iron  stand  to  keep  in  on), 
and  in  a  trembling  voice  the  dear  child  told  me  in 
one  single  breath  that  a  fathom  was  a  measure  of 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  127 

length  containing  six  feet  or  two  yards,  generally 
used  in  ascertaining  the  depth  of  the  sea.  Then, 
without  waiting  to  close  the  dictionary,  she  threw 
herself  into  ray  arms  and  asked  me  to  kiss  her  hard  ! 

Susan  wanted  to  start  right  off  that  afternoon — 
she  was  determined  to  go  with  me  this  time,  and  I 
had  not  the  heart  to  refuse  her ;  but  I  represented 
to  her  that  night  would  be  upon  us  before  we  could 
get  across  to  the  bay,  and  that  we  had  better  wait 
till  morning.  But  I  at  once  went  over  and  hired 
the  light  wagon  for  the  next  day,  and  then  we  got 
together  the  things  which  we  deemed  necessary  for 
the  expedition.  The  tape-measure,  of  course,  was  a 
most  essential  part  of  the  outfit.  Susan  declared 
that  she  would  take  exclusive  charge  of  that  her 
self  ;  it  made  her  feel  that  she  was  of  importance, 
she  said.  During  all  the  evening  she  was  quite  quiv 
ering  with  excitement — and  so  was  I,  for  that  mat 
ter — and  I  don't  believe  that  we  slept  forty  winks 
apiece  all  night  long. 

We  were  up  bright  and  early,  and  got  off  before 
seven  o'clock  —  after  Susan  had  given  the  colored 
girl  a  great  many  directions  as  to  what  she  should 
and  should  not  do  while  we  were  gone.  This  was 
the  first  time  that  we  ever  had  left  the  colored  girl 
alone  in  the  house  for  a  whole  day,  and  Susan  could 
not  help  feeling  rather  anxious  about  her.  It  would 
be  dreadful,  she  said,  to  come  home  at  night  and 
find  her  bobbing  up  and  down  dead  at  the  bottom 
of  the  well. 

As  we  drew  near  the  bay  I  asked  several  people 


128  OUK    PIRATE    HOARD. 

whom  we  happened  to  meet  along  the  road  if  they 
knew  where  Pequinky  Creek  was,  and  I  was  rather 
surprised  to  find  that  they  all  said  they  didn't.  At 
last,  however,  we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with 
quite  an  old  man  who  was  able  to  direct  us.  He 
seemed  to  be  a  good  deal  astonished  when  I  put  the 
question  to  him,  but  he  answered,  readily : 

"Yes,  yes,  o'  course  I  knows  where  'tis  —  'tain't 
nowhere.  Why,  young  man,  there  hain't  ben  any 
Pequinky  Crik  fur  tli'  better  part  o'  sixty  year — 
not  sence  thet  gret  May  storm  druv  th'  bay  shore 
right  up  on  eend  an'  dammed  th'  crik  short  off,  an' 
turned  all  th'  medders  thereabouts  inter  a  gret  nasty 
ma'sh,  an'  med  a  new  outlet  five  mile  an'  more  away 
t'  th'  west'ard.  Not  a  sign  o'  Pequinky  Crik  will 
you  find  at  this  day — an'  w'at  I  should  like  ter  know 
is  w'ere  on  yeth  a  young  feller  like  you  ever  s'  much 
as  heerd  tell  about  it." 

This  was  something  that  I  had  not  counted  on, 
and  I  could  see  that  Susan  was  feeling  very  low  in 
her  mind.  But  by  questioning  the  old  man  closely 
I  gradually  got  a  pretty  clear  notion  of  where  the 
mouth  of  the  creek  used  to  be  ;  and  I  concluded 
that,  unless  the  oak  and  hickory  had  been  cut  down 
or  washed  away,  I  stood  a  pretty  good  chance  of 
finding  the  spot  that  I  was  in  search  of.  Susan  did 
not  take  this  hopeful  view  of  the  situation.  She 
was  very  melancholy. 

Following  the  old  man's  directions,  I  drove  down 
to  the  point  on  the  road  that  was  nearest  to  where 
the  Pequinky  in  former  times  had  emptied  into  the 


OUR    PIRATE    HOARD.  129 

bay  ;  then  I  hitched  the  horse  to  a  tree,  and  with 
Susan  and  the  tape-measure  began  my  explorations. 
They  lasted  scarcely  five  minutes.  With  no  trouble 
at  all  I  found  the  oak  and  the  hickory — grown  to 
be  great  trees,  as  I  had  expected  —  and  with  the 
tape-measure  we  fixed  the  point  midway  between 
them  in  no  time.  Then  I  went  back  to  the  wagon 
for  the  spade  and  the  other  things,  Susan  going 
along  and  dancing  around  and  around  me  in  sheer 
delight.  It  is  a  fortunate  trait  of  Susan's  character 
that  while  her  spirits  sometimes  do  fall  a  very  long 
distance  in  a  very  short  time,  they  rise  to  propor 
tionate  heights  with  proportionate  rapidity. 

The  point  that  we  had  fixed  between  the  trees 
was  covered  thickly  with  leaves,  and  when  I  had 
cleared  these  away  and  had  begun  to  dig,  I  was  sur 
prised  to  find  that  the  soil  came  up  freely,  and  was 
not  matted  together  with  roots  as  wood  soil  ought 
to  be.  I  should  have  paid  more  attention  to  this 
curious  fact,  no  doubt,  had  I  not  been  so  profoundly 
stirred  by  the  excitement  incident  to  the  strange 
work  in  which  I  was  engaged.  As  for  Susan,  the 
dear  creature  said  that  she  had  creeps  all  over  her, 
for  she  knew  that  the  old  pirate's  ghost  must  be 
hovering  near,  and  she  begged  me  to  notify  her 
when  I  came  to  the  skeleton,  so  that  she  might  look 
away.  I  told  her  that  I  did  not  expect  to  find  a 
skeleton,  but  she  replied  that  this  only  showed  how 
ignorant  I  was  of  pirate  ceremonial  ;  that  it  was 
the  rule  with  all  pirates  when  burying  treasure  to 
sacrifice  a  human  life,  and  to  bury  the  dead  body 


130  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

over  the  hidden  gold.  She  admitted,  however — 
upon  my  drawing  her  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
treasure  which  we  were  in  the  act  of  digging  up 
had  been  placed  here  by  my  relative  only  for  tem 
porary  security — that  in  this  particular  instance  the 
human  sacrifice  part  of  the  pirate  programme  might 
have  been  omitted. 

Just  as  we  had  reached  this  conclusion — which  dis 
appointed  Susan  a  little,  I  think — my  spade  struck 
with  a  heavy  thud  against  a  piece  of  wood.  Clear 
ing  the  earth  away,  I  disclosed  some  fragments  of 
rotten  plank,  and  beneath  these  I  saw  something 
that  glittered!  Susan,  standing  beside  me  on  the 
edge  of  the  hole,  sawT  the  glitter  too.  She  did  not 
say  one  word  ;  she  simply  put  both  her  arms  around 
my  neck  and  kissed  me. 

I  rapidly  removed  the  loose  earth,  and  then  with 
the  pickaxe  I  heaved  the  plank  up  bodily.  But 
what  we  saw  when  the  plank  came  away  was  not  a 
chest  full  of  doubloons,  pieces-of-eight,  moidores,  and 
other  such  ancient  coins,  mingled  with  golden  orna 
ments  thickly  studded  with  precious  stones  ;  no,  we 
saw  the  very  bright  lid  of  a  tin  box,  a  circular  box, 
rather  more  than  two  feet  in  diameter.  There  was 
a  small  round  hole  in  the  centre  of  the  lid,  into  which 
a  little  roll  of  newspaper  was  stuffed — presumably 
to  keep  the  sand  out — and  beside  this  hole  I  noticed, 
soldered  fast  to  the  lid,  a  small  brass  plate  on  which 
my  eye  caught  the  word  "  Patented."  It  was  strange 
enough  to  find  the  tin  box  in  such  perfect  preserva 
tion  while  the  stout  oak  plank  above  it  had  rotted 


OUR    PIE  ATE    HOARD.  131 

into  fragments  ;  but  the  wisp  of  newspaper,  and  the 
brass  plate  with  its  utterly  out-of-place  inscription, 
were  absolutely  bewildering.  My  head  seemed  to 
be  going  around  on  my  shoulders,  while  something 
inside  of  it  was  buzzing  dreadfully.  Suddenly  Susan 
exclaimed,  in  a  tone  of  disgust  and  consternation : 
"It's — it's  that  perfectly  horrid  churn-wash-boiler!" 

As  she  spoke  these  doomful  words  I  recalled  Old 
Jacob's  drunken  story,  which  I  now  perceived  must 
have  been  true,  and  the  dreadful  thought  flashed 
into  my  mind  that  Gregory  Wilkinson  must  have 
gone  crazy,  and  that  this  dreary  practical  joke  was 
the  first  result  of  his  madness.  Susan  meanwhile  had 
sunk  down  by  the  side  of  the  hole  and  was  weeping 
silently. 

As  a  vent  to  my  outraged  feelings  I  gave  the 
wretched  tin  vessel  a  tremendous  poke  with  the 
spade,  that  caved  in  one  side  of  it  and  knocked  the 
lid  off.  I  then  perceived  that  within  it  was  an  ob 
long  package  carefully  tied  up  in  oiled  silk,  and  on 
bending  down  to  examine  the  package  more  closely 
I  perceived  that  it  was  directed  to  Susan.  With  a 
dogged  resolve  to  follow  out  Gregory  Wilkinson's 
hideous  pleasantry  to  the  bitter  end,  I  lifted  the 
package  out  of  the  box — it  was  pretty  heavy — and 
began  to  open  it.  Inside  the  first  roll  of  the  cover 
was  a  letter  that  also  was  directed  to  Susan.  She  had 
got  up  by  this  time,  and  read  it  over  my  shoulder. 

"MY  DEAR  SUSAN, — I  have  decided  not  to  wait 
until  I  die  to  do  what  little  good  I  can  do  in  the 


132  OUR    PIRATE    HOARD. 

world.  You  will  be  glad,  I  am  sure,  to  learn  that  I 
have  made  arrangements  for  the  immediate  erection 
of  the  steam-laundry  at  the  asylum,  as  well  as  for 
the  material  improvement  in  several  other  ways  of 
that  excellent  institution. 

"At  the  same  time  I  desire  that  you  and  your 
husband  shall  have  the  benefit  immediately  of  the 
larger  portion  of  the  legacy  that  I  always  have  in 
tended  should  be  yours  at  my  death.  It  is  here  (in 
govt.  4's),  and  I  hope  with  all  my  heart  that  your 
trip  to  Europe  will  be  a  pleasant  one.  I  am  very 
affectionately  yours,  GREGORY  WILKINSON." 

"  And  to  think,"  said  Susan — as  we  drove  home 
through  the  twilight,  bearing  our  sheaves  with  us 
and  feeling  very  happy  over  them — "and  to  think 
that  it  should  turn  out  to  be  your  cousin  Gregory 
Wilkinson  who  was  the  family  pirate  and  had  a 
hoard,  and  not  your  great -great -great -uncle,  after 
all!" 


A  TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK. 


I. 

ME.  JOHN  AMESBURY,  Senior  Warden  of  St.  Jude's 
Church,  Minneapolis,  to  the  Rev.  Clement  Mark- 
ham  : 

VESTRY  OP  ST.  JCDE'S,  April  4th. 

DEAE  MR.  MAEKHAM, — At  a  special  meeting  of 
the  wardens  and  vestry  of  St.  Jade's  Church  held 
this  day,  it  was  unanimously  decided  to  grant  your 
request  for  leave  of  absence  from  your  duties  as  rec 
tor  of  this  parish  from  June  1st  till  September  13th, 
inclusive,  proximo,  with  permission  to  go  abroad.  I 
am  instructed  further  to  state  that  the  wardens  and 
vestry  of  St.  Jude's  have  much  pleasure  in  granting 
your  request,  as  they  feel  that  your  zealous  and  very 
successful  administration  of  the  affairs  of  the  parish 
lias  abundantly  entitled  you  to  a  period  of  relaxa 
tion  and  rest.  Your  salary  for  the  term  of  your  ab 
sence  will  be  paid  to  you  in  advance. 

In  my  personal  capacity,  my  dear  Markham,  per 
mit  me  to  add  that  I  am  delighted  that  you  are  to 
have  this  holiday.  You  richly  deserve  it.  By-the- 
way,  a  good  deal  of  amusement  was  caused  by  the 
rather  characteristic  error  in  the  date  of  your  formal 
application  for  leave.  Were  you  to  receive  precisely 


136  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

the  holiday  that  you  asked  for,  you  would  have  to 
turn  back  the  wheels  of  time,  for  your  letter  was 
dated  last  year  ! 


II. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont, 

Boston : 

ST.  JUDK'S  RECTORY,  MINNEAPOLIS,  May  loth. 

DEAR  AUNT  LUCY, — We  are  getting  on  famously 
with  our  preparations  for  the  summer.  Dear  Clem 
ent  is  full  of  his  visit  to  England,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  will  have  a  delightful  time.  The  bishop  has 
given  him  a  letter  of  introduction  to  the  Bishop 
of  London,  and  another  to  Dean  Rumford,  of  Can 
terbury,  so  a  very  desirable  introduction  to  the  best 
clerical  society  is  assured  to  him.  He  expects  to  sail 
from  New  York  on  the  City  of  Paris  June  5th,  and 
to  sail  from  London  on  the  same  vessel  on  Septem 
ber  4th.  This  will  bring  him  back  to  New  York  in 
plenty  of  time  to  get  home  to  preach  on  the  next 
Sunday,  the  14th.  He  expects  to  write  his  sermon 
on  the  voyage.  It  would  be  delightful  to  go  with 
him,  but  this  is  impossible  on  account  of  the  chil 
dren.  I  have  engaged  board  for  the  summer  at  a 
small  but  very  good  hotel  in  the  White  Mountains 
— the  Outlook  House,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire — 
and  I  expect  to  be  very  comfortable  there.  I  made 
a  funny  mistake  in  writing  for  my  rooms.  I  directed 
my  first  letter  to  Littleton,  Neio  York.  Wasn't  it 
absurd  ? 


A    TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  137 

Dear  Clement  expects  to  get  some  vestments  in 
London,  where  they  make  them  so  well,  you  know, 
and  he  has  promised  to  bring  me  from  Paris — where 
he  will  spend  a  fortnight — two  dozen  pairs  of  gloves 
and  six  pairs  of  black  silk  stockings.  Fancy  my 
having  six  pairs  of  black  silk  stockings  at  once !  I 
shall  feel  like  a  queen.  The  children  are  very  well. 


III. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire : 

ON  BOARD  "  CITY  OF  PARIS,"  June  5th — 3:30  P.M. 
...  I  stayed  with  my  brother  Ronald  last  night, 
and  he  and  Van  Cortlandt  came  down  to  see  me  off. 
I  barely  caught  the  steamer,  for  I  forgot  my  watch 
— left  it  on  the  mantel-piece  in  Ronald's  chambers — 
and  did  not  remember  it  until  we  were  half-way 
down  town.  Ronald  said,  in  his  chaffing  way,  that 
I  left  my  head  somewhere  when  I  was  a  boy,  and 
that  I  have  been  going  around  without  it  ever  since. 
I  wish  that  he  and  Van  Cortlandt  hadn't  such  silly 
notions  about  my  incapacity  in  the  ordinary  affairs 
of  life — not  that  I  really  mind  their  nonsense,  for 
you  know  how  well  I  love  them  both.  I  am  very 
glad  that  you  consented  to  go  directly  to  the  mount 
ains  instead  of  coming  to  New  York  to  see  me  off. 
There  was  a  great  crowd  on  the  dock,  and  I  much 
prefer  to  think  of  our  tender  parting.  .  .  .  Be  sure  to 


138  A   TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK. 

cable  me  on  the  15th — the  day  that  I  get  to  London. 
The  address,  you  know,  is  simply,  "  Clement,  Lon 
don,"  and  I  am  to  arrange  with  my  bankers  to  have 
the  despatch  sent  to  me.  Good-bye,  my —  Here  is 
the  pilot. 


IV. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

[Cable  Desimtch.] 

LONDON,  June  16th. 
Why  have  you  not  cabled? 


V. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

CHARING  CROSS  HOTEL,  LONDON,  June  16th. 
.  .  .  After  I  cabled  you  this  morning  I  remembered 
that  I  hadn't  arranged  with  the  bankers  about  my 
cable  despatches.  When  I  had  rectified  this  error 
of  omission  I  received  your  despatch  of  yesterday. 
It  was  a  very  great  relief  to  my  mind  to  have  direct 
news  from  you,  and  to  know  of  the  safety  and  health 
of  my  loved  ones,  who  are  dearer  to  me ... 


A  TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK.  139 


VI. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire : 

CHARING  CROSS  HOTEL,  LONDON,  August  20tli. 

...  I  had  a  delightful  fortnight  in  Paris.  ...  I 
bought  the  gloves  and  the  stockings — it  was  droll, 
and  not  quite  proper,  about  buying  the  stockings.  I 
will  tell  you  all  about  it  when  I  get  home.  And  I 
also  bought  you  Something  Else  that  I  am  sure  will 
be  a  pleasant  surprise  to  you  when  you  see  it.  ... 
His  lordship,  Dr.  -  — ,  has  been  kindness  itself  to 
me.  I  dined  again  at  Lambeth  Palace  yesterday — 
a  farewell  dinner.  I  was  a  little  late,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  for  I  got  into  the  wrong  boat  at  Westminster 
Bridge,  but  his  lordship  very  cordially  accepted  my 
excuses.  At  dinner  I  was  seated  next  to  a  very  in 
teresting  man  who  has  charge  of  a  large  parish  in 
the  east  end  of  London.  Such  poverty  as  there  is  in 
that  wretched  region,  and  such  moral  depravity,  are 
sickening  to  contemplate.  Thank  Heaven,  there  is 
nothing  like  it  in  Minneapolis.  .  .  . 

I  shall  sail  (D.  V.)  on  the  City  of  Paris  two 
weeks  from  to-morrow.  I  think  that  the  best  ar 
rangement  will  be  for  you  to  come  down  to  your 
aunt  Lucy's  on  the  llth,  and  on  the  12th  (D.  V.)  I 
will  join  you  at  her  house  in  Boston,  whence  we  will 
start  for  home  that  evening  via  the  Boston  and  Al- 


140  A   TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK. 

bany.  I  must  be  in  New  York  for  a  few  hours  to 
see  Ronald  and  to  make  the  final  arrangements  about 
the  new  stained-glass  windows.  If  you  prefer  to 
meet  me  in  New  York,  arrange  matters  with  Ronald, 
who  will  meet  you  at  the  station  and  take  you  to  a 
hotel.  As  I  shall  go  directly  to  his  office  on  landing, 
I  will  find  out  at  once  what  you  have  decided  to 
do.  .  .  .  On  referring  to  your  letter  of  the  10th  I 
perceive  that  you  are  afraid  that  I  may  have  made 
some  mistake  about  the  sizes  of  the  stockings  and 
gloves.  Of  course  I  got  the  right  sizes ;  I  had  it 
written  doAvn  :  "  No.  6  J-,  long  fingers,"  and  "  No.  8 J, 
narrow  ankles."  Don't  fall  into  Ronald's  way  of 
fancying  that  I  always  get  things  wrong.  It  was 
about  the  narrow  ankles  that —  But  I  had  better 
wait  and  tell  it  to  you  when  I  get  home.  It  certain 
ly  was  very  droll.  I  have  bought  a  most  satisfac 
tory  chasuble,  very  elegant  in  material  and  beauti 
fully  made.  I  should  have  hesitated  to  buy  so  costly 
a  garment  for  myself  ;  but  this  is  for  the  Service  of 
the  Sanctuary.  It  will  make  something  of  a  stir 
among  the  congregation,  I  think,  the  first  time  that 
I  wear  it  in  dear  St.  Jude's.  ...  If,  as  is  probable,  I 
go  down  into  Wales  next  week,  this  will  be  my  last 
letter.  My  heart  is  full  of  joyful  thankfulness  to 
think  that  so  very  soon  I  shall  see  again  (D.  Y.)  my 
own  dear  Margaret,  who.  .  .  . 


A    TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK.  141 


VII. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont, 
Boston  : 

LITTLETON,  August  89th. 

DEAR  AUNT  LUCY, — I  have  just  received  a  long 
and  delightful  letter  from  dear  Clement.  He  had  a 
lovely  time  in  Paris,  and  he  has  bought  me  the  gloves 
and  the  silk  stockings,  and  also  Something  Else  ;  but 
he  won't  tell  me  what  this  other  thin 2  is  for  he 

O  " 

means  it  to  be  a  surprise.  Do  you  think  it  could 
possibly  be  the  silk  for  a  dress?  He  knows  how 
much  I  want  a  new  black  silk.  But  I  shall  not  think 
about  it,  for  I  don't  want  to  be  disappointed.  He 
has  had  such  delightful  dinners  with  his  lordship  the 
Bishop  of  London  at  Lambeth  Palace.  His  lordship 
was  "kindness  itself,"  Clement  writes.  Clement 
must  have  made  a  very  favorable  impression,  of 
course.  And  Clement  writes  that  he  has  bought 
such  a  love  of  a  chasuble.  It  will  stir  up  the  whole 
congregation  the  first  time  that  he  wears  it,  I  am 
sure. 

If  it  is  quite  convenient  to  you,  dear  Aunt  Lucy,  I 
shall  come  down  to  you,  with  the  nurse  and  the  chil 
dren,  on  the  llth.  That  is  the  day  that  Clement  will 
arrive  in  New  York,  and  he  writes  that  he  will  come 
to  Boston  the  next  day — after  seeing  Ronald,  and  at 
tending  to  the  final  arrangements  about  our  beauti 
ful  new  chancel  windows — and  join  me  at  your  house. 


142  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

But  if  this  arrangement  is  the  least  bit  inconvenient 
to  you,  please  tell  me  so  frankly,  for  I  can  perfectly 
well  meet  him  in  New  York,  where  Ronald  will  take 
care  of  me  till  he  comes  —  a  plan  that  he  also  has 
arranged  in  case  I  do  not  go  to  you.  Dear  Clem 
ent  always  is  so  thoughtful  and  careful,  you  know. 
Please  answer  soon,  so  that  I  may  know  what  to 
do.  The  weather  is  quite  chilly  here  now.  The 
children  are  brown  as  little  berries  and  very  well. 
Baby  has  cut  another  tooth. 


VIII. 

Mrs.  "Winthrop  Treinont  to  Mrs.  Clement  Markham, 
Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

No.  19  MOUNT  VERNON  PLACE,  August  30th. 
MY  DEAR  MARGARET, — I  write  at  once  because,  I 
am  very  sorry  to  say,  it  will  be  impossible  for  me  to 
have  you  here  on  the  date  that  you  name.  I  have 
just  completed  my  arrangements  for  having  the  en 
tire  house  papered  and  painted.  All  the  furniture  is 
locked  up  in  the  dining-room  (that  was  done  up,  you 
remember,  last  summer),  and  I  set  out  this  afternoon 
on  a  round  of  visits  that  will  fill  up  the  time  until 
September  12th,  when  I  am  promised  that  the  work 
will  be  done.  The  servants  are  to  have  holidays 
and  the  painters  and  paper-hangers  are  to  be  in 
complete  possession  of  the  premises.  Could  I  be 
sure  that  they  would  keep  their  promises  and  get 


A  TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK.  143 

through  by  the  12th,  I  should  urge  your  coming  on 
that  day,  which  still  would  be  in  time  to  meet  Clem 
ent,  instead  of  on  the  llth.  But  you  know  how  un 
certain  people  of  this  sort  are.  Much  as  I  would 
love  to  have  you  and  Clement  with  me,  I  think  that 
you  had  better  follow  out  your  second  plan,  and  go 
to  Ronald's  care  in  New  York. 


IX. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham   to  Mr.  Ronald  Markham, 

New  York : 

LITTLETON,  August  31st. 

DEAR  RONALD, — Clement  had  arranged,  in  case 
we  could  stay  at  Aunt  Lucy's,  to  meet  me  in  Boston 
on  his  return.  But  I  have  just  received  a  letter  from 
Aunt  Lucy  in  which  she  says  that  her  house  is  torn 
up,  and  that  we  cannot  possibly  come  to  her  before 
the  12th.  Therefore  I  must  adopt  the  other  plan 
that  dear  Clement,  with  his  usual  thoughtf  ulness,  has 
suggested,  which  is  to  meet  him  in  New  York.  He 
tells  me  to  ask  you  to  engage  rooms  for  me  in  some 
quiet  hotel,  and  also  to  ask  you  to  meet  me  on  my 
arrival  with  the  children  and  nurse.  I  shall  leave 
here  on  the  morning  of  the  10th  by  the  White  Mount 
ain  Express  (that  gets  in  at  Jersey  City,  I  think) ; 
and  if  you  will  care  for  me  in  the  way  that  Clement 
suggests,  I  shall  be  very  grateful. 

Clement  has  had  a  lovely  time  during  his  holiday. 
He  has  been  especially  favored  by  seeing  a  great 


144  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

deal  of  the  higher  clergy.  He  has  dined  repeatedly 
with  the  Lord  Archbishop  of  London  at  Lambeth 
Palace,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  must  have  created  a 
very  favorable  impression  among  them,  and  given 
them  a  highly  satisfactory  idea  of  the  clergymen 
of  the  American  branch  of  the  Anglican  Church. 
Please  answer  soon,  so  that  I  may  know  what  to  do. 
I  forgot  to  say  that  Clement  expects  to  arrive  on  the 
llth.  He  is  to  sail  on  the  4th. 


X. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

[Cable  Despatch.] 

LIVERPOOL,  September  3d. 
Sail  to-day. 


XL 

Mr.  Ronald  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Markham, 
Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

[Telegram.~\ 

SAN  ANTONIO,  TEXAS,  September  5th. 

Here  for  a  week  on  railroad  business.  Van  Cort- 
landt  will  secure  you  rooms  and  meet  you.  Write 
him  at  No.  120  Broadway. 


A    TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  145 


XII. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cort- 

landt,  New  York  : 

LITTLETON,  September  5th. 

DEAR  MR.  VAN  CORTLANDT, — By  a  telegram  that 
I  have  just  received  from  Ronald,  I  find  that  he  is 
in  Texas.  I  had  written  to  him  to  ask  him  to  se 
cure  rooms  for  me  at  some  quiet  hotel$  and  to  meet 
me  at  Jersey  City  on  the  evening  of  the  10th,  on  the 
arrival  of  the  White  Mountain  Express.  Of  course 
he  cannot  do  this  now,  and  he  telegraphs  me  to  ask 
you  to  do  it  all  in  his  place.  I  feel  that  I  am  taking 
a  great  liberty  in  asking  so  much  of  you,  but  I  really 
cannot  help  myself.  I  had  expected  to  meet  Clem 
ent  in  Boston  at  my  aunt's,  but  my  aunt  is  out  of 
town ;  and  now  Ronald  is  away  from  New  York. 
It  is  very  provoking.  So,  you  see,  I  can  only  throw 
myself  on  your  mercy.  But  I  do  this  with  the  less 
hesitation  because  I  know  how  strong  your  friend 
ship  is  for  my  dear  Clement,  who  will  be,  as  I  will 
be  also,  very  grateful  to  you. 

I  am  very  much  puzzled  by  a  cable  despatch  from 
Clement  that  came  two  days  ago.  It  reads,  "Sail 
to-day,"  and  is  dated  September  third.  Clement's 
passage  was  engaged  on  the  City  of  Paris,  which 
I  know  was  advertised  to  sail  on  September  fourth, 
and  that  is  the  date  that  he  all  along  has  named  for 
his  return.  Can  the  date  of  sailing  have  been 


146  A  TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

changed  ?  Ought  I  to  come  to  New  York  one  day 
earlier?  Everything  seems  to  be  going  wrong  of 
late,  and  I  am  both  worried  and  perplexed.  If  you 
can  think  of  any  comforting  explanation  that  will 
account  for  this  change,  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged 
to  you.  Please  give  my  kindest  regards  to  Mrs.  Van 
Cortlandt. 


XIII. 

Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cortlandt  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

LAW  OFFICES  OF 

VAN  CORTLANDT,  HOWARD,  WARRINGTON  &  EDGECOMBE,  EQUITABLE 
BUILDING,  120  BROADWAY. 

[Dictated.]  NEW  YORK,  September  7th. 

MY  DEAR  MRS.  MARKIIAM, — Your  favor  of  the  5th 
is  received.  I  am  very  glad  indeed  that  I  shall  have 
this  opportunity  to  serve  you.  You  must  not  con 
sider  yourself  under  any  obligation  at  all.  Remem 
ber  how  close  Clement  is  to  me,  though  our  ways  in 
life  have  separated  widely,  and  how  true  his  friend 
ship  has  been  to  me  through  all  these  years.  I  am 
delighted  that  Ronald  is  out  of  town,  and  that  I  am 
to  be  permitted  to  serve  you  in  his  place. 

I  regret  exceedingly  that  Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt  is 
still  in  the  Catskills,  and  that  our  house  still  remains 
in  its  condition  of  summer  dismantlement.  Were 
she  at  home,  and  the  house  in  order,  you  would  come 
directly  to  us,  of  course.  As  this  cannot  be,  I  have 


A   TEMPOEAEY    DEAD-LOCK.  147 

engaged  an  apartment  for  you  with  my  old  land 
lady,  Mrs.  Warden,  No.  68  Clinton  Place.  For  a 
number  of  years  before  I  was  married  I  occupied 
rooms  in  this  house,  and  I  am  coniident  that  you 
will  be  far  more  comfortable  there  than  you  possibly 
could  be  at  any  hotel.  Mrs.  Warden,  who  is  a  moth 
erly  old  body,  and  who  remembers  Clement  well, 
will  take  the  best  of  care  of  you,  and  I  have  ar 
ranged  that  your  meals  shall  be  sent  across  to  you 
from  the  Brevoort. 

In  regard  to  Clement's  cable  despatch,  I  am  as 
much  puzzled  as  you  are.  One  of  my  young  men 
has  just  returned  from  the  office  of  the  Inman  Line, 
and  reports  that  the  City  of  Paris  sailed  on  her 
regular  date,  the  4th,  and  is  due  to  arrive  here  on 
Wednesday  next,  the  llth.  My  young  man  was  as- 
.sured  that  no  steamer  belonging  to  any  of  the  regu 
lar  lines  left  Liverpool  for  this  port  on  the  3d.  The 
Canard  steamer  Samaria  did  leave  Liverpool  on  the 
3d,  however,  for  Boston.  It  is  possible,  of  course — 
since  your  original  plan  seems  to  have  been  that  you 
and  Clement  should  meet  in  Boston — that  he  has 
sailed  in  the  Samaria.  But  I  do  not  think  that  this 
is  probable.  The  Samaria  is  a  much  slower  boat 
than  the  City  of  Paris,  and  I  think  that  even  Clem 
ent  would  perceive  that  by  sailing  in  her  he  would 
lose  time  instead  of  gaining  it.  Frankly,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Markham,  I  think  that  Clement  simply  has 
mixed  things  up  in  his  despatch  by  writing  "to 
day  "when  he  meant  "to-morrow."  Bless  his  dear 
old  heart !  he  always  did  have  a  faculty  for  getting 


148  A    TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK. 

things  wrong,  you  know.  I  decidedly  advise  you, 
therefore,  to  come  down  to  New  York  on  the  10th, 
as  you  have  already  arranged. 

I  observe  that  you  speak  of  the  White  Mountain 
Express  as  coming  in  at  Jersey  City.  This  is  a  mis 
take  :  it  arrives  at  the  Forty-second  Street  Station. 
Bear  this  fact  in  mind,  please ;  and  I  advise  you  to 
write  on  a  card — which  you  had  better  have  easily 
accessible  in  your  pocket-book — Mrs.  Warden's  ad 
dress,  No.  68  Clinton  Place.  Then,  should  I  miss 
you  in  the  crowd  at  the  station,  or  should  any  other 
mischance  occur  in  regard  to  our  meeting,  you  will 
know  where  to  tell  your  driver  to  take  you,  and 
where  to  send  your  trunks.  Do  not  fear  that  any 
such  untoward  accident  will  occur  :  it  is  only  pro 
fessional  prudence  that  leads  me  to  provide  for 
every  contingency  that  may  arise.  As  a  further 
precautionary  measure  (we  lawyers  are  full  of  pre 
cautionary  measures,  you  know),  please  telegraph 
me  from  Littleton  on  the  morning  that  you  leave. 


XIV. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cort- 
landt,  New  York  : 

LITTLETON,  September  Oth. 

DEAR  MR.  VAN  CORTLANDT,  —  Your  very  kind 
letter  came  last  evening.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
grateful  I  am  to  you  for  all  your  goodness  and 
thoughtfulness.  With  such  explicit  directions  I 


A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  149 

cannot  possibly  go  wrong.  You  must  be  right,  I 
think,  in  regard  to  the  cable  despatch.  Such  a  mis 
take  would  be  just  what  dear  Clement  would  be  al 
most  certain  to  make  when  in  one  of  his  absent, 
minded  moods.  I  will  do  all  the  prudent  things 
which  you  so  thoughtfully  advise,  and  I  shall  keep 
your  letter  to  show  to  dear  Clement,  so  that  he  may 
know  how  much  trouble  you  have  taken  to  make 
everything  about  my  arrival  secure.  Of  course,  the 
train  does  not  come  in  at  Jersey  City :  I  remember 
about  it  now  perfectly.  I  arn  in  the  thick  of  pack 
ing  to-day,  and  expect  to  get  off  in  the  morning ; 
but  I  will  telegraph  you  before  I  start.  I  don't  want 
to  bother  you  with  this  letter  at  your  office,  so  I  send 
it  to  your  house.  I  find  the  address  in  Clement's 
address-book.  Am  I  not  considerate  ? 


XV. 

Dr.  Atwood  Vance  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cortlandt, 

New  York  : 

[Telegram.] 

TANNERSTILLE,  NEW  YORK,  September  9th. 
Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt  taken  dangerously  ill  in  night, 
and  continues  in  critical  condition.     Come  at  once. 


150  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 


XVI 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cort- 
landt,  New  York  : 

[Telegram.     Endorsed :    "Not  delivered.     Party  out 
of  town."] 

LITTLETON,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE,  September  10th. 
Will    arrive    on    White   Mountain   Express    this 
evening. 

XVII. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  No.  19  Mount  Vernon  Place,  Boston: 

[Telegram.    Endorsed:  "Returned  to  sender.     Un 
known  at  this  address."] 

BREVOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llili. 
Arrived  this  morning.     Will  be  with  you  (D.  V.) 
to-morrow. 

XVIII. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tre- 
mont,  No.  19  Mount  Vernon  Place,  Boston  : 

{Telegram.    Endorsed:    "Returned  to  sender.    Ad 
dressee  absent  from  Boston"] 

BREVOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llth. 
Is  Margaret  with  you  ?     Please  answer  at  once. 


A   TEMPOKAEY   DEAD-LOCK.  151 


XIX. 

The    Rev.   Clement   Markham   to    Clerk,   Outlook 
House,  Littleton,  New  Hampshire  : 

[  Telegram.] 

BREYOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llth. 
Is  Mrs.  Markham  still  at  Outlook  House?     An 
swer  prepaid. 


XX. 

Clerk,  Outlook  House,  to  the  Rev.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  New  York : 

[Telegram.] 

LITTLETON,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE,  September  llth. 
Mrs.  Markham  left  on  morning  train  yesterday 
for  New  York. 


XXI. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  John  Amesbury, 
Minneapolis : 

[Telegram.] 

BREVOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llih. 
Has    Mrs.   Markham    returned    to    Minneapolis? 
Please  answer  immediately. 


152  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

XXII. 

Mr.  John  Amesbury  to  the  Rev.  Clement  Markham, 

New  York : 

[Telegram.] 

MINNEAPOLIS,  September  lltk. 

Mrs.  Markham  has  not  returned.  Glad  you  are 
back  safe. 

XXIII. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Ronald  Mark- 
ham,  Menger  House,  San  Antonio,  Texas  : 

[Telegram] 

BREVOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llth. 
[Delivered  September  12th.] 

Did  Margaret  communicate  with  you  in  regard  to 
her  intended  movements  ?  I  cannot  find  her  and 
am  much  perturbed.  Answer  at  once. 

XXIV. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cort- 
landt,  No.  —  Broadway,  New  York  : 

No.  68  CLINTON  PLACE,  September  llth. 
DEAR  MR.  VAN  CORTLANDT, — I  was  so  sorry  that, 
after  all,  we  did  miss  each  other  in  the  crowd  last 
night.  But  I  got  along  very  well,  thanks  to  your 
forethought  in  telling  me  just  what  to  do,  though  I 
must  confess  that  I  had  five  very  dreadful  minutes 


A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  153 

while  I  was  looking  for  the  card  on  which  I  had 
written  Mrs.  Warden's  address.  And  where  do  you 
suppose  I  found  it  at  last  ?  It  was  in  my  pocket- 
book,  just  where  you  told  me  to  put  it !  Wasn't  it 
absurd  ?  So  then  we  came  down  here  very  com 
fortably,  and  found  the  delightful  apartment  that 
you  had  secured  for  me.  As  for  Mrs.  Warden,  she 
is  as  good  as  gold.  She  even  had  warm  milk  ready 
for  Teddy,  and  a  delicious  cup  of  tea  for  me.  I 
never  shall  be  able  to  thank  you  enough  for  all  that 
you  have  done. 

AVhat  arrangements  have  you  made  about  bring 
ing  Clement  to  me  ?  If  the  dear  boy  hasn't  gone  on 
that  slow  ship  to  Boston,  and  has  come,  as  you  think 
he  has,  on  the  City  of  Paris,  he  ought  to  arrive  to 
day.  I  should  love  to  go  down  to  the  dock  and  be 
the  very  first  to  welcome  him.  But  in  such  a  crowd 
as  there  will  be  I  ought  not  to  venture,  ought  I  ? 
Please  let  me  know  by  bearer  just  what  you  have 
done  about  our  meeting,  and  when  I  am  to  expect 
my  dear  boy. 

XXV. 

Mr.  Robert  Warrington  to  Mrs.  Clement  Markham, 
No.  68  Clinton  Place,  New  York  : 

LAW  OFFICES  OF 

VAN  CORTLANDT,  HOWARD,  WARRINGTON  &  EDGKCOMBE,  EQUITABLE 
BUILDING,  No.  120  BROADWAY. 

XEAV  YORK,  September  llth. 
Miss  (or  Mrs.)  Margaret  Markham: 

DEAR  MADAM, — Replying,  in  the  absence  of  Mr. 


154  A    TEMPORARY   DEAD-LOCK. 

Van  Cortlandt,  to  yours  of  even  date,  I  would  say 
that  Mr.  Van  Cortlandt  was  called  out  of  town  sud 
denly  yesterday  by  the  dangerous  illness  of  his  wife. 
I  have  no  knowledge  of  the  matter  concerning  which 
you  inquire,  and  regret,  therefore,  my  inability  to 
supply  the  information  which  you  ask.  I  may  say, 
however,  that  the  City  of  Paris,  as  I  have  ascer 
tained  by  telephone,  arrived  at  her  dock  about  half 
an  hour  ago.  Should  you  desire  to  telegraph  Mr. 
Van  Cortlandt,  his  address  is  the  Bear  and  Fox  Inn, 
Tanners ville,  Greene  County,  New  York. 


XXVI. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cort 
landt,  Bear  and  Fox  Inn,  Tannersville,  Greene 
County,  New  York  : 

[Telegram.] 

68  CLINTON  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  September  llth. 
[Delivered  September  12th.] 

What  arrangements  did  you  make  for  letting 
Clement  know  where  to  find  me  ?  If  he  came  on 
the  City  of  Paris  he  is  here  in  New  York  now.  I 
am  anxious.  So  sorry  about  Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt. 


A    TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  155 


XXVII. 

Mr.  Ronald  Markham  to  the  Rev.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  New  York  : 

[Telegram.] 

SAN  ANTONIO,  TEXAS,  September  12ih. 
Do  not  know  Margaret's  plans.     Think  she  ar- 
ran<red  matters  with  Van  Cortlandt.     See  him. 


XXVIII. 

Mr.  Hubert  Van  Cortlandt  to  Mrs.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  New  York : 

[Telegram.] 

TANNERSVILLE,  September  12th. 

Made  no  arrangements.  Expected  to  meet  Clement 
at  dock.  Sorry  if  I  have  occasioned  you  annoyance. 
You  know  cause  of  neglect.  Mrs.  Van  Cortlandt 
now  out  of  danger. 

XXIX. 

The  Rev.  Clement  Markham  to  Mr.  Ronald  Mark- 
ham,  San  Antonio,  Texas  : 

[Telegram.] 

BRETOORT  HOUSE,  NEW  YORK,  September  12ih. 
Van  Cortlandt  in  Catskills  with  sick  wife.      Saw 
his  partner,  Edgecombe,  who  can  tell  me  nothing. 


156  A    TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

I  have  ascertained  that  Margaret  left  Littleton  day 
before  yesterday  for  this  city.  With  her  departure 
from  Littleton  all  trace  of  her  is  lost.  She  has  not 
returned  to  Minneapolis.  I  am  wellnigh  crazed  with 
grief  and  anxiety.  Advise  me  at  once  what  is 
best  to  be  done.  Shall  I  advertise  ?  Will  it  be  well 
to  employ  the  police  ?  For  Heaven's  sake,  answer 
promptly  and  fully  ! 


XXX. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont, 

Boston  : 

[  Telegram.'] 

68  CLINTON  PLACE,  NEW  YORK,  September  12th. 
City  of  Paris  arrived.  Mrs.  Warden  been  to  dock 
and  got  passenger  list.  Clement's  name  in  it,  so  he 
certainly  made  mistake  in  his  cable  despatch.  I  state 
facts  fully  and  clearly,  so  that  you  may  understand 
why  Mr.  Van  Cortlandt  was  called  suddenly  to  see 
sick  wife  in  Catskills,  and  so,  while  Clement  must  be 
here  in  New  York,  perhaps  close  by  me,  am  unable 
to  find  him,  and  he,  of  course,  does  not  in  the  least 
know  where  to  find  me.  There  are  hundreds  of  hotels 
here  in  New  York,  and  he  may  be  at  all  of  them.  I 
don't  know  what  to  do,  and  am  almost  frantic  with 
anxiety.  Telegraph  me  at  once,  dear  Aunt  Lucy, 
and  make  telegram  perfectly  clear,  like  mine,  and 
long  and  full  and  explicit.  This  is  no  time  to  think 
about  what  telegraphing  costs.  Perhaps  Clement 
lias  gone  on  to  you,  or  the  other  ship  may  have  got 


A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  157 

in  sooner.  If  he  is  with  you,  implore  him  to  return 
to  me  at  once.  Would  it  be  well  for  me  to  employ 
the  police  ?  That  was  my  first  thought,  but  I  was 
afraid  that  I  might  make  his  disappearance  get  into 
the  newspapers  and  be  a  scandal,  and  that  would  not 
do  for  a  clergyman.  And  he  has  not  really  disap 
peared  ;  it  is  only  that  we  neither  of  us  know  where 
we  each  are.  My  head  is  one  horrible  buzz.  Shall 
I  advertise  ?  Had  I  better  offer  a  reward  ?  Give 
me  your  best  advice,  dear  Aunt  Lucy,  and  please 
answer  immediately. 

XXXI. 

Mr.  Ronald  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont, 

Boston : 

[Telegram.] 

SAN  ANTONIO,  TEXAS,  September  12th. 
[Delivered  13th.] 

Clement  is  at  Brevoort  House,  New  York.  By 
characteristic  blunder  has  missed  Margaret.  If  you 
know  her  address,  please  telegraph  him. 


XXXII. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont  to  Mr.  Ronald  Markham, 
New  York  (forwarded  to  San  Antonio,  Texas) : 

[Telegram.'] 

BOSTON,  September  12th. 
[Delivered  13th.] 

Margaret   is   at  No.   68   Clinton  Place,  in  great 
10 


158  A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK. 

distress  because  Clement  does  not  come  to  her. 
What  foolishness  has  overtaken  these  innocents 
now  ?  Please  set  them  right. 


XXXIII. 

Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont  to  Mrs.  Clement  Markham, 
No.  68  Clinton  Place,  New  York  : 

[Telegram.] 

BOSTON,  September  13lh. 

Clement  is  at  the  Brevoort  House,  quite  close  by 
you. 

XXXIY. 

Mr.  Ronald  Markham  to  the  Rev.  Clement  Mark- 
ham,  Brevoort  House,  New  York  : 

[Telegram.] 

SAN  ANTONIO,  TEXAS,  September  13th. 

You  will  find  Margaret  at  No.  68  Clinton  Place, 
directly  across  the  street  from  your  hotel. 


XXXV. 

Mrs.  Clement  Markham  to  Mrs.  Winthrop  Tremont, 

Boston: 

ST.  JUDE'S  RECTORY,  MINNEAPOLIS,  September  23d. 

DEAR  AUNT  LUCY, — We  left  New  York  early  last 
Monday,  and  by  Tuesday  night  we  were  once  more 


A   TEMPORARY    DEAD-LOCK.  159 

safe  and  together  here  in  our  own  dear  home.  We 
had  no  misadventures  on  our  journey,  except  that 
we  nearly  missed  our  connection  at  Syracuse  (where 
we  left  the  parlor-car  for  the  sleeper)  by  getting  on 
the  wrong  train.  Fortunately  dear  Clement  found 
out  his  mistake  just  in  time. 

I  had  not  the  energy  to  do  more  than  telegraph 
you  from  New  York  that  all  our  troubles  were  end 
ed.  I  was  too  much  upset  by  the  agony  that  I  had 
been  through  to  write.  It  was  a  very  dreadful  two 
days,  dear  Aunt  Lucy;  the  most  dreadful — especially 
that  second  day  and  the  last  night — that  I  have  ever 
known.  And  dear  Clement  suffered  even  more  than 
I  did,  for  I  knew  at  least  that  he  was  alive,  and  he 
knew  absolutely  nothing  about  me  at  all.  It  all 
seems  now  like  a  horrible  dream,  and  when  I  shut 
my  eyes  and  think  about  it,  I  turn  giddy  and  feel 
sick  and  faint.  You  cannot  possibly  imagine,  dear 
Aunt  Lucy,  how  utterly,  utterly  dreadful  it  all  was! 

If  it  had  not  been  so  very  dreadful,  it  would  have 
been  a  little  absurd,  I  think  ;  for,  you  know,  all  the 
while  that  we  were  in  such  terrible  distress  about 
being  unable  to  find  each  other,  we  actually  could 
have  opened  our  windows  and  talked  to  each  other 
just  across  the  street!  As  I  found  out,  when  at  last 
dear  Clement  came  to  me,  his  room  in  the  Brevoort 
House  was  directly  opposite  my  apartment  at  No.  68 
Clinton  Place.  Was  it  not  strange?  And  what  was 
still  stranger,  dear  Aunt  Lucy,  was  that  the  very 
morning  that  our  agony  ended  I  happened  to  look 
across  the  street,  and  there,  hanging  beside  an  open 


160  A    TEMPOKAEY    DEAD-LOCK. 

window  of  the  hotel,  I  saw  a  lovely  chasuble  that  I 
knew  must  belong  to  some  clergyman,  and  it  made 
rne  think  of  the  chasuble  that  Clement  had  written 
he  had  bought  in  London  —  and  it  really  was  that 
very  chasuble,  you  know,  for  Clement  had  hung  it 
there  to  get  the  creases  out  of  it — and  seeing  it  set 
me  into  a  perfect  agony  of  grief,  for  I  thought  that 
I  never  was  to  see  my  dear  husband  again,  and  that 
my  children  were  fatherless,  and  that  I  was  a  widow, 
and  that  there  was  nothing  left  for  me  in  the  world 
but  the  blackest  despair.  And  it  was  while  I  was 
crying  my  very  heart  out  that  there  was  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  then,  in  a  single  instant,  all  my  sorrow 
was  ended  as  I  found  myself  once  more  in  dear 
Clement's  arms. 

Yesterday  dear  Clement  preached  a  beautiful  ser 
mon  about  man's  liability  to  error,  and  the  mysteri 
ous  ways  through  which  human  error  providentially 
is  set  right.  It  was  a  very  impressive  sermon.  In 
the  service  he  wore  his  new  chasuble.  It  is  exceed 
ingly  becoming.  Everybody  was  very  much  moved 
by  the  sermon  ;  and  I  was  moved,  of  course,  most  of 
all.  I  could  not  help  crying.  Dear  Clement's  voice 
trembled  once  or  twice,  and  I  saw  that  there  were 
tears  in  his  eyes.  The  gloves  are  perfect,  and  the 
stockings  really  are  too  good  to  be  true.  They  are 
open-work  over  the  ankles,  and  three  of  the  six  pairs 
are  ribbed.  I  wish  that  I  could  tell  you  what  a 
queer  time  dear  Clement  had  when  he  was  buying 
them.  He  bought  them  in  a  French  shop  in  Paris, 
you  know ;  and  when  he  asked  for  stockings  with 


A   TEMPOEARY    DEAD-LOCK.  161 

narrow  ankles,  the  young  woman  who  was  waiting  on 
him —  But  it  will  be  better  to  wait  until  I  can  tell 
it  to  you.  It  was  very  funny.  And  the  very  best  of 
all,  dear  Aunt  Lucy,  is  that  the  surprise  that  Clem 
ent  would  not  write  to  me  about  is  the  silk  for  a  new 
black  silk  dress  !  It  is  a  lovely  quality.  I  do  wish 
that  you  could  have  heard  Clement's  beautiful  ser 
mon  yesterday,  and  that  you  could  have  seen  how 
handsome  he  looked  in  his  new  chasuble.  The 
weather  to-day  is  very  warm.  The  children  are 
wonderfully  well. 


FOE  THE   HONOR   OF  FRANCE. 


"  PARDON  !  Madame  does  not  know  that  this  is 
a  smoking-carriage?" 

"But  yes.  Monsieur  is  very  good.  It  is  that  my 
husband  would  smoke.  He  is  an  old  soldier.  He 
smokes  all  the  time.  Ciel!  They  are  like  chim 
neys,  these  old  soldiers.  This  man  of  mine  regrets 
that  he  cannot  smoke  when  he  is  asleep  !" 

While  Madame  delivered  this  address  she  contin 
ued  also  to  mount  the  steps,  and  as  she  finished  it 
she  seated  herself  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  op 
posite  to  me.  She  was  short  and  round  and  sixty 
years  old,  and  smiling  like  the  sun  on  a  fine  day. 
Her  dress  was  the  charming  dress  of  Aries,  but  over 
her  kerchief  she  wore  a  silk  mantle  that  glittered 
with  an  embroidery  of  jet  beads.  This  mantle  was 
precious  to  her.  Her  first  act  upon  seating  herself 
was  to  take  it  off,  fold  it  carefully  in  a  large  hand 
kerchief,  and  lay  it  safely  in  the  netting  above  her 
head.  She  replaced  it  with  a  red  knitted  shawl, 
partly  as  a  shield  against  the  dust,  and  partly  as  a 
protection  against  the  fresh  wind  that  was  blowing 
briskly  down  the  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

In  a  moment  her  husband  followed  her,  bowing  to 
me  as  he  entered  the  carriage.  Seating  himself  be 
side  her,  and  giving  her  plump  hand  a  little  affec- 


166         FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

tionate  pat,  he  said  :  "It  is  all  right,  little  one.  Ma 
rie  will  receive  her  jelly  in  good  condition.  I  my 
self  saw  that  the  basket  was  placed  right  side  up  in 
the  carriage.  The  jelly  will  not  spill."  Then,  turn 
ing  to  me,  he  added  :  "My  wife  makes  a  wonderful 
jelly  of  apricots,  Monsieur.  We  are  taking  some  of 
it  to  our  married  daughter,  wrho  lives  in  Avignon." 

He  was  a  well  set-up  old  boy,  with  a  face  most 
pleasantly  frank,  close  -  cut  gray  hair,  short  gray 
whiskers,  and  a  bristling  white  mustache.  Across 
his  forehead,  cutting  through  his  right  eyebrow,  was 
a  desperate  scar,  that  I  at  once  associated  in  my  own 
mind  with  the  red  ribbon  of  the  Legion  that  he 
wore  in  the  button-hole  of  his  black  frock-coat.  He 
looked  the  officer  in  retreat,  and  the  very  gentleness 
and  sweetness  of  his  manner  made  me  sure  that  he 
had  done  some  gallant  fighting  in  his  time. 

As  the  train  pulled  out  from  the  station — it  was 
at  Tarascon  that  they  had  joined  me — he  drew  forth 
from  his  pocket  a  black  little  wooden  pipe  and  a  to 
bacco-bag.  This  was  my  opportunity.  I  also  drew 
forth  a  pipe  and  a  tobacco-bag.  Would  Monsieur 
accept  some  of  my  tobacco?  I  asked.  I  had  brought 
it,  I  added,  from  America  ;  it  was  tobacco  of  the 
Havana. 

"Monsieur  then  is  an  American.  That  is  interest 
ing.  And  his  tobacco  is  from  the  Havana,  that  is 
more  interesting  still.  My  cousin's  son  has  been  for 
many  years  in  America.  His  name  is  Marius  Gui- 
raud  ;  he  lives  in  San  Francisco  ;  possibly  Monsieur 
and  he  have  met  ?" 


FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE.         167 

Monsieur  regretted  that  he  had  not  had  this  pleas 
ure,  and  explained  that  his  home  was  in  ISTew  York — 
three  times  as  far  from  San  Francisco  as  Marseilles 
was  from  Paris. 

"Name  of  a  name!  Is  it  possible?  How  vast 
this  America  must  be  !  And  they  tell  me — "  Here 
he  struck  a  wax  match  and  paused  to  light  his  pipe. 
He  drew  a  dozen  whiffs  in  silence,  while  on  his  face 
was  the  thoughtful  look  of  one  whose  taste  in  tobac 
co  was  critical  and  whose  love  for  it  was  strong. 

"  Thunder  of  guns,  but  it  is  good!"  he  exclaimed, 
as  he  took  the  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  passed  it 
lightly  back  and  forth  beneath  his  nose.  "Had  we 
smoked  tobacco  like  this  in  the  Crimea  we  should 
have  whipped  those  rascal  Russians  in  a  single  week. 
Ab,  that  we  often  were  without  tobacco  was  the 
hardest  part  of  all.  I  have  smoked  coffee  grounds 
and  hay,  Monsieur,  and  have  been  thankful  to  get 
them — I  myself,  who  well  know  what  is  good  and 
what  is  not  good  in  a  pipe!  This  tobacco — it  is 
divine  !" 

"Monsieur  served  in  the  Crimea?" 

"  This  is  the  proof  of  it,"  he  said,  a  little  grimly, 
touching  the  scar  on  his  forehead. 

"And  this,"  his  wife  added,  touching  the  bit  of 
red  ribbon  in  his  button-hole.  "  He  was  the  bravest 
man  in  all  that  war,  Monsieur,  this  old  husband  of 
mine.  His  cross  was  given  him  by — " 

" Tchut,  little  one!  What  does  Monsieur  care 
how  I  got  my  cross?  It  was  not  much  that  I  did. 
Any  man  would  have  done  the  same." 


168         FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

"  But  the  others  did  not  do  the  same.  They  ran 
away  and  left  thee  to  do  it  alone.  Did  not  his  Maj 
esty  tell  thee — " 

"Ah,  Monsieur  hears  what  a  bdbillarde  it  is.  If 
she  were  given  her  own  way  she  would  swear  that 
I  commanded  the  allied  armies,  and  that  I  blew  up 
the  Redan  and  stormed  the  Malakoff  and  captured 
Sebastopol  all  alone  !" 

"Tell  Monsieur  what  thou  didst  do,"  said  the  lit 
tle  woman,  warmly.  "  Tell  him  truly  precisely  what 
thou  didst  do,  and  then  let  him  judge  for  himself  if 
what  I  have  said  be  one  bit  less  than  thy  due." 

"And  so  bring  Monsieur  to  know  that  I  am  a 
babbling  old  woman  like  thyself?"  He  pinched 
her  gently,  and  then  settled  himself  back  against  the 
cushion  as  though  with  the  intention  of  giving  him 
self  wholly  to  the  enjoyment  of  his  pipe:  yet  was 
there  a  look  in  his  eyes  that  showed  howT  strong  was 
the  desire  within  him — the  desire  that  is  natural  to 
every  brave  and  simple-minded  old  soldier — to  tell 
the  story  of  his  honorable  scars.  Even  had  I  felt  no 
desire  to  hear  this  story,  not  to  have  pressed  him  to 
tell  it  would  have  been  cruel.  But  little  pressing 
was  required. 

"  Since  Monsieur  is  good  enough  to  desire  to  hear 
what  little  there  is  to  tell,"  he  said,  "  and  to  show 
him  how  foolish  is  this  old  woman  of  mine,  I  will 
tell  him  the  whole  affair.  It  is  a  stupid  nothing ; 
but  Monsieur  may  be  amused  by  the  trick  that  was 
put  upon  me  by  those  great  generals — yes,  that  cer 
tainly  was  droll. 


FOE  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE.         169 

"Our  regiment,  Monsieur,  was  the  Twenty-seventh 
of  the  Line.  It  was  drawn  almost  wholly  from  the 
towns  and  villages  in  these  parts  :  Aries  and  Taras- 
con  and  Saint-Remy  and  Salon  and  Maillane  and 
Chateau  Renard — there  is  the  old  chateau,  over  on 
the  hill  yonder,  beside  the  Durance — and  Barben- 
tane,  that  we  shall  see  presently  around  the  corner 
of  the  hill.  We  all  were  Provenpaux  together,  and 
the  men  of  the  other  regiments  of  our  division  gave 
us  the  name  of  the  Provence  cats  ;  though  why  they 
gave  us  that  foolish  name  I  am  sure  they  never  knew 
any  more  than  we  did  ourselves.  It  was  not  because 
we  were  cowards,  that  I  will  swear :  our  regiment 
did  some  very  pretty  fighting  in  its  time,  as  any  one 
may  know  by  reading  the  gazettes  which  were  pub 
lished  in  those  days. 

"  Our  division  held  Mont  Sapoune — the  French 
right,  you  know — facing  the  Little  Redan  across  the 
Carenage  Ravine.  It  was  early  in  the  siege,  and  we 
had  only  drawn  our  first  parallel :  close  against  the 
Selinghinsk  and  Vallyrie  redoubts,  and  partly  cov 
ering  the  ground  where  we  dug  our  rifle-pits  later 
on.  But  we  were  going  ahead  with  our  work  fast, 
and  already  we  had  thrown  up  the  little  redoubts 
known  as  No.  11  and  No.  15,  which  covered  the  ad 
vancing  earthwork  leading  to  where  our  second  par 
allel  was  to  begin.  Redoubt  No.  11  was  a  good  hun 
dred  yards,  and  Redoubt  No.  15  was  more  than  three 
times  that  distance  outside  of  our  lines  ;  and  every 
body  knew  that  these  two  advanced  posts  would  be 
in  great  danger  until  our  second  parallel  was  well 


170         FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

under  way.  So  very  possible  was  it  that  they  might 
be  surprised,  and  the  guns  turned  on  our  own  lines 
in  support  of  a  general  attack,  that  in  each  of  them 
spikes  and  hammers  were  kept  in  readiness  against 
the  need  for  spiking  the  guns  before  they  fell  into 
the  enemy's  hands.  Our  regiment  lay  just  behind 
these  redoubts,  in  the  rear  of  the  artillerymen  who 
manned  our  trenches;  and  as  the  gunners  had  plen 
ty  to  do  all  day  long,  and  through  the  night  too 
sometimes,  the  work  of  keeping  up  the  night  pickets 
fell  to  our  share. 

"It  was  while  things  were  this  way  that  I  was  on 
picket  early  one  morning  on  our  extreme  left,  close 
over  the  edge  of  the  Carenage  Ravine.  I  had  come 
on  with  the  midnight  relief,  and  by  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  when  day  was  just  breaking,  my  teeth 
were  chattering  and  I  was  stiff  with  cold.  Name 
of  a  name,  but  it  was  cold  those  winter  mornings  ! 
We  have  nothing  like  it,  even  when  the  worst  mis 
tral  is  blowing,  in  our  winters  here  in  Provence. 
Down  in  the  ravine  there  was  a  thick  mist,  into 
which  I  could  not  see  at  all ;  but  every  now  and 
then  a  whiff  of  wind  would  come  in  from  the  sea 
ward  and  thin  it  a  little,  and  then  I  would  give  a 
good  look  below  me,  for  it  was  along  the  ravine 
that  "any  party  sent  out  to  surprise  us  almost  cer 
tainly  would  come. 

"It  was  while  the  light  still  was  faint  that  I 
thought  I  heard,  coming  up  through  the  mist,  a  lit 
tle  rattling  sound,  such  as  might  be  made  by  a  man 
stumbling  and  dropping  his  musket  among  the  bro- 


FOR  THE  HOXOE  OF  FRAXCE.         171 

ken  rocks.  Just  tben  the  mist  was  too  thick  for  me 
to  see  twenty  feet  below  me.  I  was  sure  that  some 
thing  bad  was  going  on  down  there,  but  I  did  not 
Avant  to  make  a  fool  of  myself  by  giving  a  false 
alarm.  All  that  I  could  do  was  to  cock  my  musket 
and  to  hold  it  pointed  towards  where  the  sound 
seemed  to  come  from,  all  ready,  should  there  be 
need  for  it,  to  give  the  alarm  and  get  in  a  shot  at 
the  enemy  at  the  same  time.  Truly,  Monsieur,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  stood  that  way,  while  my  heart 
went  pounding  against  my  ribs,  for  a  whole  year! 
I  was  no  longer  cold  :  the  blood  was  racing  through 
my  veins,  and  I  was  everywhere  in  a  glow.  Sud 
denly  there  came  a  puff  of  wind,  and  as  the  mist 
thinned  for  a  moment  I  saw  that  the  whole  ravine 
was  full  of  Russians.  Their  advance  already  was 
half-way  up  the  bank  nearest  to  our  works.  In  less 
than  ten  minutes  the  whole  of  them  would  be  dash 
ing  into  our  outlying  redoubts.  As  I  pulled  the  trig 
ger  of  my  musket  I  tried  to  shout,  but  my  throat 
was  as  dry  as  a  furnace  and  I  could  only  gasp.  And 
—  will  you  believe  it?  —  my  musket  missed  fire! 
Name  of  a  name,  what  a  state  I  was  in !  There  was 
the  enemy  coming  on  under  cover  of  the  mist ;  and 
there  was  I,  the  only  man  who  could  save  our  army, 
standing  dumb  like  a  useless  fool ! 

"What  I  must  do  came  to  me  like  a  flash.  If  I 
ran  back  inside  of  our  lines  to  give  the  alarm,  the 
chances  were  a  thousand  to  one  that  the  enemy 
would  have  the  outlying  redoubt,  very  likely  would 
have  them  both,  and  wTould  turn  the  guns  before 


172         FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

help  could  come.  But  I  knew,  at  least  I  hoped, 
that  there  was  time  for  me  to  get  to  the  more  ex 
posed  redoubt  ahead  of  them  and  give  the  word  to 
spike  the  guns.  It  was  all  in  an  instant,  I  say,  that 
I  found  this  thought  in  my  mind,  and  my  musket 
and  cartridge-box  thrown  I  don't  know  where,  and 
myself  dashing  off  through  the  mist  across  the 
broken  ground  like  a  deer. 

"As  I  rushed  into  the  redoubt  our  men  thought 
that  I  was  the  Russians  ;  and  when  they  knew  me 
by  my  uniform  for  a  Frenchman,  and  heard  me  cry 
ing  in  a  hoarse  whisper,  '  Spike  the  guns !'  they 
thought  that  I  was  mad.  But  the  lieutenant  in  com 
mand  of  the  battery  had  at  least  a  little  sense,  even 
if  lie  did  not  have  much  courage,  and  he  looked  tow 
ards  where  I  pointed — and  then  he  saw  the  shakos, 
as  the  mist  lifted  again,  not  a  hundred  feet  away. 

"  'Save  yourselves,  I  will  make  the  guns  safe,'  he 
cried  to  his  men — he  was  not  all  a  coward,  poor  fellow 
— and  as  they  ran  for  it  he  picked  up  the  spikes  and 
the  hammer.  Tap  !  tap  !  tap !  one  gun  was  spiked. 
Tap !  tap !  tap !  another.  Then  we  heard  the  Rus 
sians  beginning  to  scramble  up  outside. 

"He  swore  a  great  oath  as  he  dropped  the  ham 
mer.  'It  can't  be  done.  Run,  cat!'  he  cried — and 
away  he  started  after  his  men.  The  name  that  I 
called  him  as  he  ran  away,  Monsieur,  was  a  very  foul 
name  ;  God  forgive  me  for  what  I  said  !  But  I  was 
determined  that  it  should  be  done.  In  a  second  I 
had  picked  up  the  nails  and  the  hammer,  and — tap ! 
tap  !  tap  ! — the  third  gun  was  safe.  '  Run,  cat !'  I 


FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE.         173 

heard  the  lieutenant  call  again.  But — tap  ! — I  had 
the  n'ail  started  in  the  last  gun,  and  then,  right 
above  me,  was  a  Russian  major  and  with  him  a  doz 
en  of  his  men.  Tap!  and  I  had  the  nail  half-way 
home  as  the  major  jumped  down  beside  me,  with  his 
sword  raised.  I  knew  that  I  could  parry  his  blow 
with  the  hammer  and  then,  possibly,  get  away  ;  but 
I  wanted  to  make  sure  that  that  gun  could  not  be 
turned.  And  so — it  was  quick  thinking  that  I  did 
just  then,  Monsieur — tap !  and.  the  gun  was  no  bet 
ter  than  old  iron  !  At  that  same  instant  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  whole  world  burst  into  a  tremendous 
roar  and  ten  thousand  blazing  stars — but  it  only  was 
the  sword  of  that  confounded  Russian  major  bang 
ing  against  my  skull !" 

The  little  woman  was  almost  sobbing.  She  took 
her  husband's  hand  in  both  of  hers. 

"But  you  see  that  I  was  not  killed,  little  one,"  he 
said ;  and  he  raised  her  hands  to  his  lips  and  kissed 
them. 

"It  was  not  until  the  next  day,  Monsieur,"  he 
went  on,  "  that  I  knew  anything.  Then  I  was  in  the 
hospital. 

"'How  did  it  go?'  I  asked  of  the  hospital-stew 
ard. 

"  <  Shut  up,'  said  the  steward. 

"  This  made  me  angry.  '  How  did  it  go,polisson$" 
I  cried.  '  Tell  me,  or  I'll  crush  your  bones.' 

"  Then  the  man  was  more  civil.  '  The  Russians 
were  driven  back,'  he  said, '  and  a  lot  of  them  were 
captured.  You  owe  it  to  the  same  Russian  major 
11 


174        FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

who  almost  killed  you  that  your  life  was  saved.  As 
soon  as  he  was  brought  into  camp  he  sent  a  message 
to  the  general  begging  that  you  might  be  looked  af 
ter  quickly.  If  there  was  any  life  left  in  you,  it  wras 
worth  saving,  he  said,  for  you  were  a  brave  man — 
and  he  told  how  you  had  spiked  those  last  two 
guns.  ParbleUy  but  for  that  message  you  would 
have  died  !  When  they  brought  you  in  here  you 
were  nearly  gone  !' 

"'And  the  lieutenant  who  ran  away?'  I  asked. 

"  '  Oh,  he  was  killed — as  he  deserved.  Now  you 
know  all  about  it.  Hold  your  tongue.' 

"I  felt  so  foolishly  weak,  and  there  was  such  a 
pain  in  my  head  as  I  began  to  remember  it  all  once 
more,  that  I  could  not  ask  any  more  questions. 
Presently  my  head  began  to  buzz  and  the  pain  in  it 
to  get  worse,  and  then  for  a  week  I  had  a  fever  that 
came  near  to  taking  me  off.  But  I  pulled  through  " 
— he  squeezed  his  wife's  hand,  that  again  had  been 
laid  in  his — "  and  in  three  weeks  I  was  back  with  the 
regiment  again.  It  was  all  due  to  my  having  such 
a  wonderfully  thick  skull,  the  doctors  said,  that  the 
major's  sword  had  not  broken  it  past  all  mending. 
When  I  came  into  camp  the  boys  all  cheered  me, 
and  I  was  as  proud  as  a  cock.  And  then,  the  first 
thing  I  knew,  up  came  a  corporal  and  a  file  of  men 
and  arrested  me. 

"'What  am  I  arrested  for?'  I  asked. 

"  '  For  being  absent  without  leave  from  your  regi 
ment  during  battle,'  said  the  corporal,  and  marched 
me  off  to  the  guard-house.  Then  I  was  not  proud 


FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE.        175 

at  all.  But  I  was  very  angry.  That  I  should  be  ar 
rested  in  this  fashion  did  not  seem  to  me  fair. 

"  In  half  an  hour  back  came  the  corporal  and  his 
file  of  men.  This  time  they  took  me  to  headquar 
ters.  In  we  went ;  and  the  corporal  stood  beside 
me,  and  his  men  behind  me  in  a  row.  It  seemed  as 
though  half  the  officers  of  our  army  were  there  :  my 
colonel,  the  general  of  our  brigade,  the  general  of 
our  division,  half  a  dozen  other  generals,  three  or 
four  English  officers  in  their  smart  red  coats  ;  pres 
ently  there  was  a  stir — and  in  came  the  Emperor! 
What  the  deuce  it  all  meant  I  could  not  .tell  at  all ! 

"  ( Private  Labonne,'  said  my  colonel,  he  spoke  in 
a  very  harsh  tone,  yet  it  seemed  to  me  that  there 
was  an  odd  sort  of  twinkle  in  his  eye — 'you  de 
serted  your  post,  and  you  were  absent  without  leave 
when  your  regiment  went  into  action.' 


'  Yes,  but— ' 


" '  Not  a  word  of  excuse,  Private  Labonne.  You 
know  the  penalty.'  I  did  know  the  penalty,  of 
course ;  it  was  to  be  taken  out  and  shot.  I  began 
to  think  that  this  was  worse  than  the  Russians ! 

"  '  When  shall  I  order  the  court-martial,  your  Maj 
esty?'  asked  my  colonel. 

" '  I  will  be  the  court-martial,'  said  the  Emperor. 
'This  is  a  serious  matter;  this  is  a  matter  to  be 
dealt  with  in  a  hurry.  The  case  is  proved.  There 
is  no  need  for  a  trial.  I  order  Private  Labonne  to 
be  shot  right  away.' 

"  I  shivered  all  down  my  back.  It  was  worse  than 
the  Russians  ;  very  much  worse. 


176  FOK   THE    HONOIi    OF    FRANCE. 

" '  Take  him  away,'  said  my  colonel. 

"  The  corporal  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and 
the  guard  closed  in.  'March  !'  said  the  corporal. 

"'Stop!'  said  the  Emperor.  'Private  Labonne, 
before  you  are  taken  away  and  shot,  tell  me  what 
you  were  doing  in  that  battery.' 

"  '  Nothing,  your  Majesty.' 

"  '  Nothing  ?  I  thought  that  I  heard  something 
about  guns  being  spiked.  Did  not  you  spike  a  gun, 
Private  Labonne?' 

"  'Yes,  your  Majesty.' 

"  'Did  not  you  spike  two  guns — and  both  of  them 
after  the  gunners  and  the  officer  in  command  of  the 
battery  had  run  away  ?' 

"  '  Yes,  your  Majesty.' 

"'And  why  did  you  not  run  away,  too,  Private 
Labonne  ?' 

"'  Because  I  wanted  to  spike  the  guns,  your  Maj 
esty.' 

"'You  did  not  think,  then,  that  it  was  your  duty 
as  one  of  my  soldiers  to  save  your  life  by  running 
with  the  others  ?' 

"  This  question  puzzled  me,  for  I  certainly  never 
had  thought  of  the  matter  in  that  way  at  all.  It 
occurred  to  me  that  perhaps  I  really  had  not  done 
my  duty.  But  what  the  Emperor  said,  for  all  that 
he  was  the  Emperor,  did  not  seem  reasonable,  and  I 
made  bold  to  answer  him  :  '  If  T  had  taken  care  of 
my  own  life,  your  Majesty,  a  great  many  of  your 
soldiers  would  have  died  to  pay  for  it.  It  would 
have  been  a  bad  day's  work  if  those  two  guns  had 


FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE.         177 

not  been  spiked,  for  the  Russians  certainly  would 
have  turned  them  on  our  lines.' 

"  The  Emperor  turned  to  my  colonel.  ( There  is 
something  in  what  Private  Labonne  says,  eh,  colonel? 
I  suppose  there  really  would  have  been  the  very  devil 
to  pay  had  the  enemy  turned  those  guns  ?' 

" '  I  suppose  there  would,'  said  my  colonel,  a  little 
grimly. 

"  *  Then  the  case  is  not  quite  so  black  against 
Private  Labonne  as  it  at  first  appeared?' 

"  'Not  quite  so  black,'  said  rny  colonel. 

"  '  Perhaps  we  need  not  have  him  shot,  after  all  ?' 

"  'Perhaps  not — not  this  time,  at  least.' 

" '  We  might  even  compliment  him  a  little  upon 
his  bravery.  For  it  was  rather  brave — eh,  colonel  ? 
— to  stay  in  that  battery  and  spike  those  guns,  while 
a  hundred  Russians  were  tumbling  in  upon  him,  and 
his  own  comrades  had  run  off  and  left  him  to  do  his 
duty  and  to  die  for  it  there  alone.' 

"  My  colonel's  voice  broke  a  little  as  he  answered, 
'  It  was  very  brave,  your  Majesty.' 

" '  Eh,  well,  Private  Labonne,'  said  the  Emperor, 
turning  again  to  me,  *  we  won't  shoot  you.  Your 
colonel  is  right  about  your  bravery;  and  to  shoot  a 
brave  man,  except  in  battle,  is  a  mistake.  The  Rus 
sian  officer  who  came  so  near  to  killing  you  was  a 
major,  I  am  told;  well,  you  may  happen  to  meet  him 
again,  and  if  you  do  it  is  only  fair  that  your  rank 
should  equal  his.  Here  is  your  commission,  Major 
Labonne  ;  and  here  is  a  little  thing  ' — it  was  his  own 
cross  of  the  Legion  that  the  Emperor  gave  me — 


178         FOR  THE  HONOR  OF  FRANCE. 

'  that  I  want  you  to  wear  in  remembrance  of  that  day 
when  you  did  as  brave  a  piece  of  work  as  ever  was 
done  by  a  French  soldier  for  the  honor  of  France  !' 

"And  so  you  see.  Monsieur,  it  was  only  a  comedy 
about  my  being  shot,  after  all.  Here  is  Avignon. 
You  must  wait  for  me  a  moment,  little  one,  while  I 
get  the  basket  of  jelly  for  Marie." 


A  KOMANCE  OF  TOMPKINS  SQUAEE. 


WHETHER  the  honey  shall  be  brought  to  the 
boiling-point  slowly  or  rapidly;  whether  it  shall  boil 
a  long  time  or  a  short  time  ;  when  and  in  what  quan 
tities  the  flour  shall  be  added;  how  long  the  knead 
ing  shall  last;  in  what  size  of  earthen  pot  the  dough 
shall  be  stored,  and  what  manner  of  cover  upon 
these  pots  best  preserves  the  dough  against  the  as 
saults  of  damp  and  mould;  whether  the  pots  shall 
be  half -buried  in  the  cool  earth  of  the  cellar  or 
ranged  on  shelves  to  be  freely  exposed  to  the  cool 
cellar  air — all  these  several  matters  are  enshrouded 
in  a  mystery  that  is  penetrated  only  by  the  elect  few 
of  Niirnberg  bakers  by  whom  perfect  lebkuchen  is 
made.  And  the  same  is  true  of  the  Brunswick 
bakers,  who  call  this  rare  compound  honigkuchen, 
and  of  the  makers  of  pferfferkuchen,  as  it  is  called 
by  the  bakers  of  Saxony. 

Nor  does  the  mystery  end  here.  This  first  stage 
in  the  making  of  lebkuchen  is  but  means  to  an  end, 
and  for  the  compassing  of  that  end — the  blending 
and  the  baking  of  the  finished  and  perfect  honey- 
cake — each  master-baker  has  his  own  especial  recipe, 
that  has  come  down  to  him  from  some  ancestral 
baker  of  rare  parts,  or  that  by  his  own  inborn  gen 
ius  has  been  directly  inspired.  And  so,  whether 


182  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

the  toothsome  result  be  Nlirnberger  lebkuchen,  or 
Brunsscheiger  peppernotte,  or  Easier  leckerly,  the 
making  of  it  is  a  mystery  from  first  to  last. 

It  was  because  of  this  mystery  that  the  life  of 
Gottlieb  Brekel  had  been  imbittered  for  nearly 
twenty  years — ever  since,  in  fact,  his  first  essay  in 
the  compounding  of  Niirnberger  lebkuchen  had  been 
made.  He  was  but  a  young  baker  then :  now  he 
was  an  old  one,  and  notwithstanding  the  guarded 
praise  of  friends  and  the  partial  approval  of  the  pub 
lic  (notably  of  that  portion  of  the  public  under  the 
age  of  ten  years  that  attended  St.  Bridget's  Paro 
chial  School)  he  full  well  knew  that  his  efforts 
through  all  these  years  to  make,  in  New  York,  leb 
kuchen  such  as  he  himself  had  eaten  when  he  was  a 
boy,  at  home  in  Niirnberg,  had  been  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  long  series  of  failures. 

In  the  hopeful  days  of  his  apprenticeship  all  had 
seemed  so  easy  before  him.  Let  him  but  have  a  lit 
tle  shop,  and  then  a  little  capital  wherewith  to  lay 
in  his  supply  of  honey,  and  the  thing  would  be 
done!  He  had  no  recipe,  it  is  true;  for  he  was  a 
baker  not  by  heredity,  but  by  selection.  Yet  from 
a  wise  old  baker  he  had  gleaned  the  knowledge  of 
honey- cake  making,  and  he  believed  strongly  that 
from  the  pure  fount  of  his  own  genius  he  could 
draw  a  formula  for  the  making  of  lebkuchen  so  ex 
cellent  that  compared  with  it  all  other  lebkuchen 
would  seem  tasteless.  But  these  were  the  bright 
dreams  of  youth,  which  age  had  refused  to  realize. 

In  course  of  time  the  little  shop  became  an  accom- 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKIXS    SQUARE.  183 

plished  fact ;  a  very  little  shop  it  was  in  East  Fourth 
Street.  Capital  came  more  slowly,  and  three  several 
times,  when  a  sum  almost  sufficient  had  been  saved, 
was  it  diverted  from  its  destined  purpose  of  buying 
the  honey  without  which  Gottlieb  could  not  make 
even  a  beginning  in  his  triumphal  lebkuchen  career. 

His  first  accumulation  was  swept  away  through 
the  conquest  of  Ambition  by  Love.  In  this  case 
Love  was  personified  in  one  Minna  Schaus — who 
was  not  by  any  means  a  typical  sturdy  German  lass, 
with  laughing  looks  arid  stalwart  ways,  but  a  dainti 
ly-finished,  golden-haired  maiden,  with  soft  blue  eyes 
full  of  tenderness,  and  a  gentleness  of  manner  that 
Gottlieb  thought — and  with  more  reason  than  lovers 
sometimes  think  things  of  this  sort — was  very  like 
the  manner  of  an  angel.  And  for  love  of  her  Gott 
lieb  forgot  for  a  while  his  high  resolves  in  regard  to 
lebkuchen  making;  and  on  the  altar  of  his  affec 
tions — in  part  to  pay  for  his  modest  wedding-feast, 
in  part  to  pay  for  the  modest  outfit  for  their  house 
keeping  over  the  bakery — the  money  laid  aside  for 
the  filling  of  his  honey-pots  very  willingly  was  of 
fered  up. 

A  second  time  were  his  honey-pots  sacrificed,  that 
the  coming  into  the  world  of  the  little  Minna  might 
be  made  smooth.  This,  also,  was  a  willing  sacrifice; 
though  in  his  heart  of  hearts  Gottlieb  felt  a  twinge 
of  regret  that  his  first-born  was  not  a  son,  to  whom 
the  fame  and  fortune  incident  to  the  making  of  per 
fect  lebkuchen  might  descend.  But  he  was  a  phi 
losopher  in  his  way,  and  did  not  suffer  himself  to  be 


184  A   EOMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

seriously  disconcerted  by  an  accident  that  by  no 
means  was  irreparable.  As  he  smoked  his  long  pipe 
that  night,  while  the  bread  was  baking,  he  said  to 
himself,  cheerily:  "It  is  a  girl.  Yes,  that  is  easy. 
Girls  sprout  everywhere  ;  they  are  like  grass.  But 
a  boy,  and  a  boy  who  is  to  grow  up  into  such  a 
baker  as  my  boy  will  be — ah,  that  is  another  matter. 
But  patience,  Gottlieb;  all  in  good  time."  Then, 
when  his  third  pipe  was  finished — which  was  his 
measure  of  time  for  the  baking — he  fetched  out  the 
sweet-smelling  hot  bread  from  the  oven  with  his 
long  peel,  and  set  forth  upon  his  round  of  delivery. 
And  he  whistled  a  mellow  old  Niirnberg  air  as  he 
pushed  his  cart  through  the  streets  before  him  that 
frosty  morning,  and  in  his  heart  he  thanked  the  good 
God  who  had  sent  him  the  blessings  of  a  dear  wife 
and  a  sweet  little  daughter  and  a  growing  trade. 

And  yet  once  more  were  his  honey-pots  sacrificed, 
and  this  time  the  sacrifice  was  sad  indeed.  From 
the  day  that  the  little  Minna  came  into  the  world  his 
own  Minna,  as  in  a  little  while  was  but  too  plain  to 
him,  began  to  make  ready  to  leave  it.  As  the  weeks 
went  by,  the  little  strength  that  at  first  had  come  to 
her  was  lost  again ;  the  faint  color  faded  from  her 
cheeks,  and  left  them  so  wan  that  through  the  fair 
skin  the  blue  veins  showed  in  most  delicate  tracery; 
and  as  her  dear  eyes  ever  grew  gentler  and  more 
loving,  the  light  slowly  went  out  from  them.  So 
within  the  year  the  end  came.  In  that  great  sorrow 
Gottlieb  forgot  his  ambition,  and  cared  not,  when 
the  bills  were  paid,  that  his  honey-pots  still  remained 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  185 

unfilled.  For  the  care  of  his  home  and  of  little  Minna 
his  good  sister  Iledwig  came  to  him.  Very  drearily, 
for  a  long  while,  the  work  of  the  bakery  went  on. 

But  a  strong  man,  stirred  by  a  strong  purpose, 
does  not  relinquish  that  purpose  lightty;  and  the  one 
redeeming  feature  of  the  life  of  many  sorrows 
which  in  this  world  we  all  are  condemned  to  live  is 
that  even  the  bitterest  sorrow  is  softened  by  time. 
But  for  this  partial  relief  our  race  no  doubt  would 
have  been  extinguished  ages  ago  in  a  madness 
wrought  of  grief  and  rage. 

Gottlieb's  strong  purpose  was  to  make  the  best 
lebkuchen  that  baker  ever  baked.  After  a  fashion 
his  sorrow  healed,  as  the  flesh  heals  about  a  bullet 
that  has  gone  too  deep  to  be  extracted  by  the  sur 
geon's  craft,  and  while  it  was  with  him  always,  and 
not  seldom  sent  through  all  his  being  thrills  of  pain, 
he  bore  it  hidden  from  the  world,  and  went  about 
his  work  again.  Working  comforted  him.  The 
baking  of  bread  is  an  employment  that  is  at  once 
soothing  and  sustaining.  As  a  man  kneads  the 
spongy  dough  he  has  good  exercise  and  wholesome 
time  for  thought.  While  the  baking  goes  on  he  may 
smoke  and  meditate.  The  smell  of  the  newly-baked 
bread  is  a  pleasant  smell,  and  brings  with  it  pleasant 
thoughts  of  many  people  well  nourished  in  the  eat 
ing  of  it.  Moreover,  there  is  no  time  in  the  whole 
twenty-four  hours  when  a  city  is  so  innocent,  so  like 
the  quiet  honest  country-side,  as  that  time  in  the 
crisp  morning  when  a  baker  goes  his  rounds. 

As  Gottlieb  found  himself  refreshed  and  strength- 


186  A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKIXS    SQUARE. 

ened  by  these  manifold  good  influences  of  his  gentle 
trade,  his  burden  of  sorrow  was  softened  to  him  and 
made  easier  to  bear.  Comforting  thoughts  of  the  lit 
tle  Minna — growing  to  be  a  fine  little  lass  now — stole 
in  upon  him,  and  within  him  the  hope  arose  that  she 
would  grow  to  be  like  the  dear  mother  whom  she 
never  had  known.  So  the  little  fine  roots  of  a  new 
love  struck  down  into  his  sad  heart;  and  presently 
the  sweet  plant  of  love  began  to  grow  for  him 
again,  casting  its  delicate  tendrils  strongly  about  the 
child,  who  truly  was  a  part  of  the  being  about  which 
his  earlier  and  stronger  love  had  clung.  Yet  the 
love  that  thus  was  re-established  in  Gottlieb's  breast 
was  far  from  filling  it,  and  so  for  ambition  there  was 
ample  room. 

Somewhat  to  his  surprise,  one  night,  as  he  sat  be 
side  the  oven  smoking  his  second  pipe,  he  found 
himself  thinking  once  more  about  his  project  for 
making  such  lebkuchen  as  never  yet  had  been  known 
outside  of  Niirnberg — lebkuchen  that  would  make 
him  at  once  the  admiration  and  the  despair  of  every 
German  baker  in  New  York.  Nor  was  there,  as  he 
perceived  as  he  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind, 
any  reason  now  why  he  should  not  set  about  mak 
ing  this  project  a  reality  ;  for  he  had  money  enough, 
and  more  than  enough,  in  store  to  buy  the  honey 
that  he  had  so  long  desired.  His  eyes  sparkled;  he 
forgot  to  smoke ;  and  when  he  turned  again,  half  un 
consciously,  to  his  pipe,  it  had  gone  out.  This  roused 
him.  The  brightness  faded  from  his  eyes;  he  drew 
a  long  sigh.  Then  he  lighted  his  pipe  again,  and 


-p= — -»_S=F- — —    . -— - — — — — : - ~~^r-:  _^~— —.— _--^— ^ ^—^-  ^— __^-~— 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  189 

until  the  baking  was  ended  his  thoughts  no  longer 
were  busied  with  ambitious  schemes  for  the  making 
of  lebkuchen,  but  went  back  with  a  sad  tenderness 
to  the  happy  time  that  had  come  so  quickly  to  so 
cruel  an  end. 

But  the  spark  was  kindled,  and  presently  the  fire 
burned.  When  he  told  the  good  Hedwig  that  he 
had  bought  the  honey  at  last,  that  excellent  woman 
— albeit  not  much  given  to  display  of  the  tender 
emotions — shed  tears  of  joy.  She  was  a  sturdy, 
thick-waisted,  stout-ankled  person,  this  Aunt  Hed 
wig,  with  a  cheery  red  face,  and  prodigiously  fine 
white  teeth,  and  very  bright  black  eyes;  and  her 
taste  in  dress  was  such  that  when  of  a  Sunday  she 
went  to  the  Church  of  the  Redemptorist  Fathers,  in 
Third  Street,  she  was  more  brilliant  than  ever  King 
Solomon  was  in  all  his  glory,  in  her  startling  array 
of  vivid  reds  and  greens  and  blues.  But  beneath 
her  violent  exterior  of  energetic  color  she  had  a 
warm  and  faithful  heart,  as  little  Minna  knew  al 
ready,  and  as  her  brother  Gottlieb  had  known  for 
many  a  long  good  year.  Therefore  was  Gottlieb 
now  gladdened  by  her  hearty  show  of  sympathy; 
and  lie  returned  with  a  good  will  the  sounding 
smack  that  she  gave  him  with  her  red  lips,  and  the 
strong  hug  that  she  gave  him  with  her  stout  arms. 

It  was  at  sight  of  this  pleasing  manifestation  of 
affection  that  Herr  Sohnstein,  the  notary — who  was 
present  in  the  little  room  back  of  the  shop  where  it 
occurred — at  once  declared  that  he  meant  to  buy 
some  honey  too.  And  Aunt  Hedwig,  smiling  so 


190  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

generously  as  to  show  every  one  of  her  fine  white 
teeth,  promptly  told  him  that  he  had  better  be  off 
and  buy  it,  because  perhaps  he  could  buy  at  the 
same  place  some  hugs  and  kisses  too  :  at  which 
sally  and  quick  repartee  they  all  laughed.  Ilerr 
Sohnstein  long  had  been  the  declared  lover  of  Aunt 
Hedwig's,  and  long  had  been  held  at  arm's-length 
(quite  literally  occasionally)  by  that  vigorous  per 
son;  who  believed,  because  of  her  good  heart,  that 
her  present  duty  was  not  to  consult  her  own  happi 
ness  by  becoming  Frau  Sohnstein,  but  to  remain  the 
Friiulein  Brekel,  and  care  for  her  lonely  brother  and 
her  brother's  child. 

Being  thus  encouraged,  Gottlieb  bought  the  honey 
forthwith  ;  and  with  Aunt  Hedwig's  zealous  assist 
ance  set  about  boiling  it  and  straining  it  and  knead 
ing  it  into  a  sticky  dough,  all  in  accordance  with  the 
wise  old  baker's  directions  which  he  so  long  had  treas 
ured  in  his  mind.  And  when  the  dough  was  packed 
in  earthen  pots,  over  which  bladders  were  tied,  all 
the  pots  were  set  away  in  the  coolest  part  of  the 
cellar,  as  far  from  the  great  oven  as  possible,  that 
the  precious  honey-cake  might  undergo  that  subtle 
change  which  only  comes  with  time. 

For  at  least  a  year  must  pass  before  the  honey- 
cake  really  can  be  said  to  be  good  at  all ;  and  the 
longer  that  it  remains  in  the  pots,  even  until  five- 
and-twenty  years,  the  better  does  it  become.  There 
fore  it  is  that  all  makers  of  lebkuchen  who  aspire  to 
become  famous  professors  of  the  craft  add  each 
year  to  their  stock  of  honey-cake,  yet  draw  always 


w 


"C 


''  When  the  dough  was  packed  in  earthen  pots,  over  which  bladders 
were  tied,  the  pots  were  set  away  in  the  coolest  part  of  the  cellar.'11 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  193 

from  the  oldest  pots  a  time-soaked  dough  that  ever 
grows  more  precious  in  its  sweet  excellence  of  age. 
Thus  large  sums — more  hundreds  of  dollars  than  a 
young  baker,  just  starting  upon  his  farinaceous  ca 
reer,  would  dare  to  dream  of — may  be  invested  ; 
and  the  old  rich  bakers  who  can  dower  their  daugh 
ters  with  many  honey-pots  know  that  in  the  matter 
of  sons-in-law  they  have  but  to  pick  and  choose. 

It  was  about  Christmas-time — which  is  the  proper 
time  for  this  office — that  Gottlieb  made  his  first 
honey-cake ;  and  it  was  a  little  before  the  Christ 
mas  following  that  his  first  lebkuchen  was  baked. 
For  a  whole  week  before  this  portentous  event  oc 
curred  he  \vas  in  a  nervous  tremor ;  by  day  he 
scarcely  slept ;  as  he  sat  beside  the  oven  at  night 
his  pipe  so  frequently  went  out  that  twice,  having 
thus  lost  track  of  time,  his  baking  of  bread  came 
near  to  being  toast.  And  when  at  last  the  fateful 
night  arrived  that  saw  his  first  batch  of  lebkuchen 
in  the  oven,  he  actually  forgot  to  smoke  at  all ! 

Gottlieb  had  but  a  sorry  Christmas  that  year. 
The  best  that  even  Aunt  Hedwig  could  say  of  his 
lebkuchen  was  that  it  wras  not  bad.  Herr  Sohnstein, 
to  be  sure,  brazenly  declared  that  it  was  delicious  ; 
but  Gottlieb  remembered  that  Herr  Sohnstein,  who 
conducted  a  flourishing  practice  in  the  criminal 
courts,  was  trained  in  the  art  of  romantic  devia 
tions  from  the  truth  whenever  it  was  necessary  to 
put  a  good  face  on  a  bad  cause  ;  and  he  observed 
sadly  that  the  notary's  teeth  were  at  variance  with 
his  tongue,  for  the  piece  of  lebkuchen  that  Herr 
12 


194  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

Sohnstein  ate  was  infinitessimally  small.  As  for 
the  regular  German  customers  of  the  bakery,  they 
simply  bit  one  single  bite  and  then  refused  to  buy. 
Indeed,  but  for  the  children  from  St.  Bridget's 
School  —  who,  being  for  the  most  part  boys,  and 
Irish  boys  at  that,  presumably  could  eat  anything — 
it  is  not  impossible  that  that  first  baking  of  leb- 
kuchen  might  have  remained  uneaten  even  until  this 
present  day.  And  it  wras  due  mainly  to  the  stout 
stomachs  of  successive  generations  of  these  enter 
prising  boys  that  the  series  of  experiments  which 
Gottlieb  then  began  in  the  making  of  lebkuchen 
was  brought,  in  the  course  of  years,  to  something 
like  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  But  even  at  its  best, 
never  was  this  lebkuchen  at  all  like  that  of  which  in 
his  hopeful  youth  he  had  dreamed. 

Ilerr  Sohnstein,  to  be  sure,  spoke  highly  of  it,  and 
even  managed  to  eat  of  it  quite  considerable  quanti 
ties.  Gottlieb  did  not  imagine  that  Ilerr  Sohnstein 
could  have  in  this  matter  any  ulterior  motives ;  but 
Aunt  Hedwig  much  more  than  half  suspected  that 
in  order  to  please  her  by  pleasing  her  brother  he  was 
making  a  sacrifice  of  his  stomach  to  his  heart.  If 
this  theory  had  any  foundation  in  fact,  it  is  certain 
that  Ilerr  Sohnstein  did  not  appreciably  profit  by 
his  gallant  risk  of  indigestion ;  for  while  Aunt  Hed- 
wrig  by  no  means  seemed  disposed  to  shatter  all  his 
hopes  by  a  sharp  refusal,  she  gave  no  indication 
whatever  of  any  intention  to  permit  her  ripe  red 
lips  to  utter  the  longed-for  word  of  assent.  Aunt 
Hedwig,  unquestionably,  was  needlessly  cruel  in  her 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  195 

treatment  of  Ilerr  Sohnstein,  and  lie  frequently  told 
her  so.  Sometimes  he  would  ask  her,  with  a  fine 
irony,  if  she  meant  to  keep  him  waiting  for  his 
answer  until  her  brother  had  made  lebkuchen  as 
good  as  the  lebkuchen  of  Niirnberg  ?  To  which 
invariably  she  would  reply  that,  in  the  first  place, 
she  did  not  know  of  any  question  that  he  ever  had 
asked  her  that  required  an  answer  ;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  that  she  did  mean  to  keep  him  wait 
ing  just  precisely  that  long.  And  then  she  would 
add,  with  a  delicate  drollery  that  was  all  her  own, 
that  whenever  he  got  tired  of  waiting  he  might  hire 
a  whole  horse -car  all  to  himself  and  ride  right 
away.  Ah,  this  Aunt  Hedwig  had  a  funny  way  with 
her ! 

And  so  the  years  slipped  by ;  and  little  Minna,  who 
laughed  at  the  passing  years  as  merrily  as  Aunt  Hed 
wig  laughed  at  Herr  Sohnstein,  grew  up  into  a  blithe, 
trig,  round  maiden,  and  ceased  to  be  little  Minna  at 
all.  She  was  her  mother  over  again,  Gottlieb  said ; 
but  this  was  not  by  any  means  true.  She  did  have 
her  mother's  goodness  and  sweetness,  but  her  sturdy 
body  bespoke  her  father's  stronger  strain.  Aunt 
Hedwig,  of  this  same  strain,  undisguisedly  was 
stocky.  Minna  was  only  comfortably  stout,  with 
good  broad  shoulders,  and  an  honest  round  waist 
that  anybody  with  half  an  eye  for  waists  could  see 
would  be  a  satisfactory  armful.  And  she  had  also 
Aunt  Hedwig's  constant  cheeriness.  All  day  long 
her  laugh  sounded  happily  through  the  house,  or  her 
voice  went  blithely  in  happy  talk,  or,  failing  anybody 


196  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKIXS    SQUAKE. 

lo  talk  to,  trilled  out  some  scrap  of  a  sweet  old  Ger 
man  song.  The  two  apprentices  and  the  young  man 
who  drove  the  bread-wagon  of  course  were  wildly 
and  desperately  in  love  with  her — a  tender  passion 
that  they  dared  not  disclose  to  its  object,  but  that 
they  frequently  and  boastingly  aired  to  each  other. 
Naturally  these  interchanges  of  confidence  were  apt 
to  be  somewhat  tempestuous.  As  the  result  of  one 
of  them,  when  the  elder  apprentice  had  declared  that 
Minna's  beautiful  brown  hair  was  finer  than  any  wig 
in  the  window  of  the  hair-dresser  on  the  west  side 
of  the  square,  and  that  she  had  given  him  a  lock  of 
it;  and  when  the  young  man  who  drove  the  bread- 
wagon  (he  was  a  profane  young  man)  had  declared 
that  it  was  a  verdamrnter  sight  finer  than  any  wig, 
and  that  she  hadn't  —  the  elder  apprentice  got  a 
dreadful  black  eye,  and  the  younger  apprentice  was 
almost  smothered  in  the  dough-trough,  and  the  young 
man  who  drove  the  bread-wagon  had  his  head  bro 
ken  with  the  peel  that  was  broken  over  it.  Aunt 
Hedwig  did  not  need  to  be  told,  nor  did  Minna,  the 
little  jade,  the  cause  of  this  direful  combat  ;  and 
both  of  these  amiable  women  thought  Gottlieb  very 
hard-hearted  because  he  charged  the  broken  peel — 
it  was  a  new  one — and  the  considerable  amount  of 
dough  that  was  wasted  by  sticking  to  the  younger 
apprentice's  person,  against  the  wages  of  the  three 
combatants. 

This  reference  to  the  apprentices  and  to  the  wag 
on  shows  that  Gottlieb's  bakery  no  longer  was  a 
small  bakery,  but  a  large  one.  In  the  making  of 


r! 

e-  2 


o    2" 


A  ROMANCE  OF  TOMPKINS  SQUARE.       199 

lebkuchen,  it  is  true,  lie  had  not  prospered  ;  but  in 
all  other  ways  he  had  prospered  amazingly.  From 
Avenue  A  over  to  the  East  River,  and  from  far  be 
low  Tompkins  Square  clear  away  to  the  upper  re 
gions  of  Lexington  Avenue,  the  young  man  who 
drove  the  bread-wagon  rattled  along  every  morning 
as  hard  as  ever  he  could  go,  and  he  vowed  and  de 
clared,  this  young  man  did,  that  nothing  but  his  love 
for  Minna  kept  him  in  a  place  where  all  the  year 
round  he  was  compelled  in  every  single  day  to  do 
the  work  of  two.  Meanwhile  the  little  shop  on  East 
Fourth  Street  had  been  abandoned  for  a  bigger  shop, 
and  this,  in  turn,  for  one  still  bigger—quite  a  pal 
ace  of  a  shop,  with  plate-glass  windows  —  on  Ave 
nue  B.  It  was  here,  beginning  in  a  modest  way 
with  a  couple  of  tables  whereat  chance-hungry  peo 
ple  might  sit  while  they  ate  zwieback  or  a  thick  slice 
of  hearty  pumpernickel  and  drank  a  glass  of  milk, 
that  a  restaurant  was  established  as  a  tender  to  the 
bakery.  It  did  not  set  out  to  be  a  large  restaurant, 
and,  in  fact,  never  became  one.  In  the  back  part  of 
the  shop  were  a  dozen  tables,  covered  with  oil-cloth 
and  decorated  with  red  napkins,  and  at  these  tables, 
under  the  especial  direction  of  Aunt  Hedwig,  who 
was  a  culinary  genius,  was  served  a  limited,  but  from 
a  German  stand-point  most  toothsome,  bill  of  fare. 
There  was  Hasenpfeffer  mit  Spatzle,  and  Sauerbraten 
mit  Kartoffelklusse,  and  Rindfleisch  mit  Meerrettig, 
and  Bratwurst  mit  Rothkraut  ;  and  Aunt  Hedwig 
made  delicious  coffee,  and  the  bakery  of  course 
provided  all  manner  of  sweet  cakes.  In  the  sum- 


200      A  EOMANCE  OF  TOMPKINS  SQUARE. 

mer-time    they    did    a    famous    business    in    ice 
cream. 

On  the  plate-glass  windows  beneath  the  sweeping 
curve  of  white  letters  in  which  the  name  of  the  own 
er  of  the  bakery  was  set  forth  was  added  in  smaller 
letters  the  words  "  Cafe  Niirnberger."  Gottlieb  and 
Aunt  lied  wig  and  the  man  who  made  the  sign  (this 
last,  however,  for  the  venal  reason  that  more  letters 
would  be  required)  had  stood  out  stoutly  for  the 
honest  German  "Kaffehaus;"  but  Minna,  whose 
tastes  were  refined,  had  insisted  upon  the  use  of 
the  French  word  :  there  was  more  style  about  it, 
she  said.  And  this  was  a  case  in  which  style  was 
wedded  to  substantial  excellence.  What  with  the 
good  things  which  Gottlieb  baked  and  the  good 
things  which  Aunt  Hedwig  cooked,  the  Cafe  Niirn 
berger  presently  acquired  a  somewhat  enviable  rep 
utation.  It  became  even  a  resort  of  the  aristocracy, 
in  this  case  represented  by  the  dwellers  in  the  hand 
some  houses  on  the  eastern  and  northern  sides  of 
Tompkins  Square.  Of  winter  evenings,  when  bright 
gas-light  and  a  big  glowing  stove  made  the  restau 
rant  a  very  cozy  place  indeed,  large  parties  of  these 
aristocrats  would  drop  in  on  their  way  home  from 
the  Thalia  Theatre,  and  would  stuff  themselves  with 
Hasenpfeffer  and  Sauerbraten  and  Kartoffelklosse, 
and  would  swig  Aunt  Hed  wig's  strong  coffee  (out  of 
cups  big  enough  and  thick  enough  to  have  served  as 
shells  and  been  fired  from  a  mortar),  until  it  would 
seem  as  though  they  must  certainly  crack  their  aris 
tocratic  skins. 


A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  201 

Altogether,  Gottlieb  was  in  a  flourishing  line  of 
business  ;  and  but  for  the  deep  sorrow  that  time 
never  wholly  could  heal,  and  but  for  the  continued 
failure  of  his  attempts  to  make  a  really  excellent  leb- 
kuchen,  he  would  have  been  a  very  happy  man.  By 
this  time  he  had  come  to  be  a  baker  of  ease.  The 
hard  part  of  the  work  was  done  by  the  apprentices, 
and  the  morning  delivery  of  bread  was  attended  to 
by  the  young  man  who  drove  the  bread-wagon.  In 
the  summer-time  he  would  take  Minna  and  Aunt  Iled- 
wig,  always  accompanied  by  her  faithful  Herr  Solm- 
stein,  upon  beer-drinking  expeditions  to  Guttenberg 
and  other  fashionable  suburban  resorts  ;  and  through 

'  O 

the  cozy  winter  evenings  he  smoked  his  long  pipe 
comfortably  in  the  little  room  at  the  back  of  the 
shop,  where  Minna  and  Aunt  Hedwig  sat  with  him, 
and  where  Herr  Sohnstein,  also  smoking  a  long  pipe, 
usually  sat  with  him  too.  Sometimes  Minna  would 
sing  sweet  German  songs  to  them,  accompanying 
herself  very  creditably  upon  a  cabinet  organ— for 
Minna  had  received  not  only  the  substantial  educa 
tion  that  enabled  her  to  keep  the  bakery  accounts, 
but  also  had  been  instructed  in  the  polite  accom 
plishments  of  music  and  the  dance.  In  summer, 
when  expeditions  were  not  on  foot,  these  smoking 
parties  usually  were  held  upon  the  roof  ;  where  Gott 
lieb  had  made  a  garden  and  grew  roses  in  pots,  and 
even  had  raised  some  rare  and  delicious  cauliflowers. 
It  was  a  pleasant  place,  that  roof,  of  a  warm  sum 
mer  evening,  especially  when  the  rising  full -moon 
sent  a  shimmering  path  of  glory  across  the  rippling 


202  A    EOMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUAEE. 

waters  of  the  East  River,  and  cast  over  the  bad- 
smelling  region  of  Hunter's  Point  a  glamour  of 
golden  haze  that  made  it  seem,  oil  tanks  and  all,  a 
bit  of  fairy-land.  At  such  times,  as  they  sat  among 
the  rose-bushes  and  cauliflowers,  Herr  Sohnstein  not 
infrequently  would  stop  smoking  his  long  pipe  while 
he  slyly  squeezed  Aunt  Hedwig's  plump  hand.  Arid 
Gottlieb  also  would  stop  smoking,  as  his  thoughts 
wandered  away  along  that  glittering  path  across  the 
waters,  and  so  up  to  heaven  where  his  Minna  was. 
And  then  his  thoughts  would  return  to  earth,  to  his 
little  Minna — for  to  him  she  still  was  but  a  child — 
and  he  would  find  his  sorrow  lessened  in  thankful 
ness  that,  while  his  greatest  treasure  was  lost  to 
him,  this  good  daughter  and  so  many  other  good 
things  still  were  his. 

But  the  lebkuchen  dream  of  Gottlieb's  youth  re 
mained  unrealized  ;  still  unattained  was  the  goal 
that  twenty  years  before  had  seemed  so  near.  How 
ever,  being  a  stout-hearted  baker  of  the  solid  Niirn- 
berg  strain,  he  did  not  at  all  surrender  hope.  Each 
year  he  added  to  his  stock  of  honey-cake ;  and  he 
knew  that  when  fortune  favored  him  at  last,  as  he 
still  believed  that  fortune  would  favor  him,  he  would 
have  in  store  such  honey-cake  as  would  enable  him 
to  make  lebkuchen  fit  to  be  eaten  by  the  Kaiser 
himself  ! 

After  the  affair  of  the  broken  peel  there  was  a 
coolness  between  Gottlieb  and  the  elder  apprentice, 
which,  increasing,  led  to  a  positive  coldness,  and 
then  to  a  separation.  And  then  it  was  that  Fate  put 


A   KOMANCE    OF   TOMPKIXS    SQUARE.  203 

a  large  spoke  in  all  the  wheels  which  ran  in  the  Cafe 
Niirnberg  by  bringing  into  Gottlieb's  employment 
a  ruddy  young  Niirnberger,  lately  come  out  of  that 
ancient  city  to  America,  named  Hans  Kuhn. 

It  was  not  chance  that  led  Hans  to  earn  his  living 
in  a  bakery  when  he  came  to  New  York.  He  was  a 
born  baker :  a  baker  by  choice,  by  force  of  natural 
genius,  by  hereditary  right.  Back  in  the  dusk  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  as  far  as  ever  the  traditions  of  his 
family  and  the  records  of  the  Guild  of  Bakers  of 
Nurnberg  ran,  all  the  men  of  his  race  had  been 
bakers,  and  famous  ones  at  that.  A  cumulative 
destiny  to  bake  was  upon  him,  and  he  loved  baking 
with  all  his  heart.  It  was  no  desire  to  abandon  his 
craft  that  had  led  him  to  leave  Nurnberg  and  cross 
the  ocean ;  rather  was  he  moved  by  a  noble  ambi 
tion  to  build  up  on  a  broad  and  sure  foundation  the 
noble  art  of  baking  in  the  New  World.  And  it  had 
chanced,  moreover,  that  in  the  conscription  he  had 
drawn  an  unlucky  number. 

When  this  young  man  entered  the  Cafe  Nurnberg 
— being  drawn  thither  by  its  display  of  the  name  of 
his  own  native  city — and  asked  for  a  job,  his  air  was 
so  frank,  his  talk  about  baking  so  intelligent,  that 
Gottlieb  took  kindly  to  him  at  once  ;  and  Minna, 
sitting  demurely  at  her  accounts  in  the  little  wire 
cage  over  which  was  a  fine  tin  sign  inscribed  in 
golden  letters  with  the  word  "  Cashier,"  was  mightily 
well  pleased,  in  a  demure  and  proper  way,  at  sight 
of  his  ruddy  cheeks  and  bushy  shock  of  light-brown 
hair  and  little  yellow  mustache  and  honest  blue 


204  A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKIXS    SQUAKE. 

eyes.  When  he  told,  in  answer  to  Gottlieb's  ques 
tions,  that  he  was  the  grandson  of  the  very  baker  in 
Niirnberg  whose  delicious  lebkuchen  Gottlieb  had 
eaten  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  that  a  part  of  his 
bakerly  equipment  wras  the  lebkuchen  recipe  that 
had  come  down  in  his  family  from  the  baker  genius, 
his  remote  ancestor,  who  had  invented  it  —  well, 
when  he  had  told  this  much  about  himself,  it  is  not 
surprising  that  Gottlieb  fairly  jumped  for  joy,  and 
engaged  him,  not  as  his  apprentice,  but  as  his  as 
sistant,  on  the  spot. 

It  was  rather  dashing  to  Gottlieb's  enthusiasm, 
however,  that  his  assistant — thereby  manifesting  a 
shrewd  worldly  wisdom  —  declined  immediately  to 
impart  his  secret.  He  would  make  all  the  lebkuchen 
that  was  required,  he  said,  but  for  the  present  he 
need  not  tell  how  it  was  made — possibly  the  Ilerr 
Brekel  might  not  be  satisfied  with  it,  after  all.  But 
the  Herr  Brekel  was  satisfied  with  it,  and  so  was  all 
the  neighborhood  when  the  first  batch  of  lebkuchen 
was  baked  and  placed  on  sale.  Indeed,  as  the  fame 
of  this  delicious  lebkuchen  went  abroad,  the  coming 
of  the  new  baker  was  accepted  by  all  Germans  with 
discriminating  palates  as  one  of  the  most  important 
events  that  ever  had  occurred  on  the  East  Side. 
The  work  of  the  young  man  who  drove  the  bread- 
wagon  was  so  greatly  increased  that  he  organized  a 
strike,  uniting  in  his  own  person  the  several  func 
tions  of  strikers,  walking  delegates,  district  assem 
bly,  and  executive  committee.  And  when  the  strike 
collapsed — that  is  to  say,  when  the  young  man  was 


A    ROMANCE    OP   TOMPKIISTS    SQUARE.  205 

discharged  summarily  —  Gottlieb  really  did  find  it 
necessary  to  hire  two  new  young  men,  and  to  buy 
an  extra  horse  and  wagon.  Morally  speaking,  there 
fore  (although  the  original  young  man,  who  remain 
ed  out  of  employment  for  several  weeks,  and  had  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it,  did  not  think  so),  the  strike 
was  a  complete  success. 

As  a  matter  of  course  no  well-set-up,  right-think 
ing  young  fellow  of  three-and-twenty  could  go  on 
baking  lebkuchen  in  the  same  bakery  with  Minna 
Brekel  for  any  length  of  time  without  falling  in 
love  with  her.  Nor  was  it  reasonable  to  suppose 
that  even  Minna,  who  had  treated  casual  apprentices 
and  wagon-driving  young  men  with  a  seemly  scorn, 
would  continue  to  sit  in  the  seat  of  the  scornful 
when  siege  in  form  was  laid  to  her  heart  by  a  prop 
erly  ruddy-cheeked  and  blue-eyed  assistant  baker, 
whose  skill  was  such  that  he  could  make  lebkuchen 
fit  to  be  eaten  by  the  German  portion  of  the  saints 
in  Paradise.  At  the  end  of  three  months  the  feel 
ings  of  these  young  people  towards  each  other  were 
quite  clearly  defined  in  their  own  minds ;  at  the  end 
of  six  months,  as  they  were  sitting  together  one  af 
ternoon  in  the  little  back  room  at  a  time  when  the 
shop  happened  to  be  empty,  things  came  to  the  pleas 
ing  crisis  that  they  both  for  a  considerable  period 
had  foreseen. 

But  then,  unfortunately,  came  a  storm — that  nei 
ther  of  them  had  foreseen  at  all — that  shook  the 
Cafe  Niirnberg  to  its  very  foundations  ! 

Gottlieb  was  the  storm,  and  he  moved  over  a  wide 


206  A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAKE. 

area  with  great  rapidity  and  violence.  He  was  cen 
tral,  naturally,  over  Hans  and  Minna  :  the  first  of 
whom,  after  being  denounced  with  great  energy  as 
a  viper  who  had  been  warmed  to  the  biting  point, 
was  ordered  to  take  himself  off  without  a  single  in 
stant's  delay,  and  never  to  darken  the  doors  of  the 
Cafe  Nurnberg  again  ;  and  the  second  of  whom  was 
declared  to  be  a  baby  fool,  who  must  be  kept  locked 
up  in  her  own  third -story  back  room,  and  fed  on 
nothing  more  appetizing  than  pumpernickel  and  wa 
ter  until  she  came  to  her  senses.  In  the  outer  edges 
of  the  storm  the  apprentices  and  the  young  men 
who  drove  the  wagons  found  themselves  most  hotly 
involved  ;  and  a  very  violent  gust  swept  down  upon 
Aunt  Hedwig  and  Herr  Sohnstein,  who  surely  were 
as  innocent  in  the  premises  as  any  two  people  quite 
satisfactorily  engaged  in  earnest  but  somewhat  dila 
tory  love-making  of  their  own  very  well  could  be. 
Indeed,  this  storm  was  an  ill  wind  that  blew  a  fa 
mous  blast  of  luck  to  Herr  Sohnstein  :  for  Aunt  Hed 
wig,  being  dreadfully  upset  by  her  brother's  out 
break,  went  of  her  own  accord  to  Herr  Sohnstein 
for  sympathy  and  consolation — and  found  both  in 
such  liberal  quantities,  and  with  them  such  tender 
pleadings  to  enter  a  matrimonial  haven  where  storms 
should  be  unknown,  that  presently,  smiling  through 
her  tears,  she  uttered  the  words  of  consent  for  which 
the  excellent  notary  had  waited  loyally  through 
more  than  a  dozen  weary  years.  It  was  Herr  Sohn- 
stein's  turn  to  be  upset  then.  He  couldn't  believe, 
until  he  had  soothed  himself  with  a  phenomenal 


A   ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  207 

number  of  pipes,  that  happiness  so  perfect  could  be 
real. 

Possibly  one  reason  why  Gottlieb's  storm  was  so 
violent  was  that  he  could  not  give  any  good  reason 
for  it.  Hans  really  was  a  most  estimable  young 
man  ;  he  came  of  a  good  family ;  as  a  baker  he  wTas 
nothing  short  of  a  genius.  All  this  Gottlieb  knew, 
and  all  this  he  frequently  had  said  to  Aunt  Hedwig 
and  to  He  IT  Sohnstein,  and,  worst  of  all,  to  Minna. 
As  each  of  these  persons  now  pointed  out  to  him, 
in  order  to  be  consistent  in  his  new  position  he  must 
eat  a  great  many  of  his  own  words  ;  and  he  would 
have  essayed  this  indigestible  banquet  willingly  had 
he  been  convinced  that  thus  he  really  could  have 
proved  that  Hans  was  a  viper  and  all  the  other  un 
pleasant  things  which  he  had  called  him  in  his  wrath. 
In  truth,  Gottlieb  was,  and  in  the  depths  of  his  heart 
he  knew  that  he  was,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a 
dog  in  the  manger.  His  feeling  simply  was  that 
Minna  was  his  Minna,  and  that  neither  Hans  nor 
anybody  else  had  any  right  to  her.  This  was  not  a 
position  that  admitted  of  logical  defence  ;  but  it  was 
one  that  he  could  be  ugly  and  stick  to  :  which  was 
precisely  what  he  did. 

Minna  did  not  remain  long  a  prisoner  in  her  own 
room,  feeding  upon  pumpernickel  and  water  and  bit 
ter  thoughts.  Aunt  Hedwig  and  Ilerr  Sohnstein 
succeeded  in  putting  a  stop  to  that  cruelty.  And 
these  elderly  lovers,  whose  fresh  love  had  made  them 
of  a  sudden  as  young  as  Minna  herself,  and  had  fill 
ed  them  with  a  warm  sympathy  for  her,  laid  their 


208  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

heads  together  and  sought  earnestly  to  circumvent 
in  her  interest  her  father's  stern  decree.  It  was  a 
joy  to  see  this  picture,  in  the  little  room  back  of  the 
shop,  of  middle-aged  love-making ;  and  it  was  a  lit 
tle  startling  to  find  how  the  new  youth  that  their 
love  had  given  them  had  filled  them  with  a  quite 
extravagantly  youthful  recklessness.  Herr  Sohn- 
stein,  who  was  well  known  as  a  grave,  sedate,  and  un 
usually  cautious  notary,  seriously  suggested  (though 
he  did  not  explain  exactly  how  this  would  do  it) 
that  they  should  make  an  effort  to  bring  Gottlieb 
to  terms  by  burning  down  the  bakery.  And  Aunt 
lied  wig,  whose  prudent  temperament  was  sufficient 
ly  disclosed  in  the  fact  that  she  had  hesitated  in  the 
matter  of  her  own  love  affair  for  upward  of  a  dozen 
years,  not  less  seriously  advanced  the  proposition 
that  they  all  should  elope  from  the  Cafe  Niirnberg 
and  set  up  a  rival  establishment !  Herr  Sohnstein 
did  not  make  any  audible  comment  upon  this  violent 
proposal  of  Aunt  lied  wig's,  but  it  evidently  put  an 
idea  into  his  head. 

As  Gottlieb  happened  to  be  walking  along  the 
south  side  of  Tompkins  Square,  a  fortnight  or  so 
after  the  tempest,  he  found  his  steps  arrested  by  a 
great  sign  that  lay  face  downward  on  trestles  across 
the  sidewalk,  in  readiness  for  hoisting  in  place  upon 
the  front  of  a  smart  new  shop.  Inside  the  shop  he 
saw  painters  and  paper-hangers  at  work  ;  and  on  the 
large  plate-glass  window  a  man  was  gluing  white 
letters  with  a  dexterous  celerity.  The  letters  already 
in  place  read  "Nurnberger  Lebku — "  And  as  to  this 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKIXS    SQUARE.  209 

legend  he  saw  "  chen  "  added,  he  rolled  out  a  stout 
South  German  oath  and  stamped  upon  the  ground. 
But  far  stronger  was  the  oath  that  he  uttered  as  the 
big  sign  was  swung  upward,  and  he  read  upon  it,  in 
golden  German  letters  : 


flans  futljtt. 

That  the  Recording  Angel  blotted  out  with  his 
tears  the  fines  which  he  was  compelled  on  this  occa 
sion  to  record  against  Gottlieb  Brekel  in  Heaven's 
high  chancery  is  highly  improbable.  In  the  only 
known  case  of  such  lachrymic  erasure  the  provoca 
tion  to  profanity  was  a  commendable  moral  motive 
that  was  eminently  unselfish.  But  when  Gottlieb 
Brekel  swore  roundly  in  his  native  German  all  the 
way  from  the  south-west  corner  of  Tompkiris  Square 
to  the  corner  of  Third  Street  and  the  Bowery  ;  and 
from  that  point,  when  he  had  transacted  his  busi 
ness  there,  all  the  way  back  to  the  Cafe  Niirnberg 
in  Avenue  B,  his  motives  could  not  in  any  wise  be 
regarded  as  moral,  and  selfishness  lay  at  their  very 
root. 

Gottlieb  already  found  himself  involved  in  serious 
difficulties  with  the  many  customers  who  bought  his 
lebkuchen  ;  for  with  the  departure  of  Hans  he  had 
been  compelled  to  fall  back  upon  his  own  resources, 
and  with  the  most  lamentable  results.  Great  quan 
tities  of  his  first  baking  were  returned  to  him,  with 
comments  in  both  High  German  and  Low  German 


210  A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

of  a  very  uncomplimentary  sort.  His  second  baking 
— saving  the  relatively  inconsiderable  quantities  con 
sumed  by  the  omnivorous  children  of  St.  Bridget's 
School  —  simply  remained  upon  his  hands  unsold. 
And  now,  to  make  his  humiliation  the  more  com 
plete,  here  was  his  discharged  assistant  setting  up 
as  his  rival;  and  with  every  probability  that  the  at 
tempted  rivalry  would  be  crowned  with  success. 
Really  there  was  something,  perhaps,  to  be  said  in 
palliation  of  Gottlieb's  profanity  after  all. 

When  he  told  at  home  that  evening  of  Hans 
Kulm's  upstart  pretensions,  his  statements  were  re 
ceived  with  an  ominous  silence.  Aunt  Hedwig  only 
coughed  slightly,  and  continued  her  knitting  with 
more  than  usual  energy.  Herr  Sohnstein  only  moved 
a  little  in  his  chair  and  puffed  a  little  harder  than 
usual  at  his  pipe.  Minna,  who  was  in  her  wire  cage 
in  the  shop  settling  her  cash,  only  bent  more  in 
tently  over  her  books.  But  when  Gottlieb  went  a 
step  further  and  said,  looking  very  keenly  at  Herr 
Sohnstein  as  he  said  it,  that  some  great  rascal  must 
have  lent  Hans  the  money  to  make  his  fine  start, 
Aunt  Hedwig  at  once  bristled  up  and  said  with 
emphasis  that  rascals,  neither  great  nor  small,  were 
in  the  habit  of  lending  their  money  to  deserving 
young  men  ;  and  Herr  Sohnstein,  a  little  sheepishly 
perhaps,  and  mumbling  a  little  in  his  gray  mustache, 
ventured  the  statement  that  this  was  a  free  country 
already,  and  people  living  in  it  were  at  liberty  to 
lend  their  money  to  whom  they  pleased  ;  and  Minna, 
looking  up  from  her  books  —  Gottlieb's  back  was 


A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  211 

turned  towards  her — blew  a  most  unfilial  kiss  from 
the  tips  of  her  chubby  fingers  to  Herr  Sohnstein 
right  over  her  father's  shoulder.  All  of  which  goes 
to  show  that  something  very  like  open  war  had  bro 
ken  out  in  the  Cafe  Niirnberg,  and  that  the  once 
united  family  dwelling  therein  was  fairly  divided 
into  rival  camps. 

Gottlieb's  dreary  case  was  made  a  little  less  dreary 
when  he  found  that  the  lebkuchen  which  Hans  pro 
duced  in  his  fine  new  bakery  was  distinctly  an  in 
ferior  article ;  not  much  better,  in  fact,  than  Gott 
lieb's  own.  To  any  intelligent  baker  the  reason  for 
this  was  obvious  :  Hans  was  making  his  lebkuchen 
with  new  honey-cake.  Thus  made,  even  by  the  best 
of  recipes,  it  could  not  be  anything  but  a  failure. 
Gottlieb  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief  as  he  realized 
this  comforting  fact,  arid  at  the  same  time  thought 
of  his  own  great  store  of  honey-pots  —  there  were 
hundreds  of  them  now — all  ready  and  waiting  to  his 
hand.  But  his  feeling  of  satisfaction  passed  quickly 
to  one  of  impotent  rage  as  he  recognized  his  own 
powerlessness,  for  all  his  wealth  of  honey-pots,  to 
make  lebkuchen  which  would  be  eaten  by  anybody 
but  the  tough-palated  children  from  St.  Bridget's 
School.  He  was  alone,  smoking,  in  the  little  room 
back  of  the  shop  as  this  bitter  thought  came*  to  him  ; 
in  his  rage  he  struck  the  table  beside  him  a  blow  so 
sounding  that  the  family  cat,  peacefully  slumbering 
behind  the  stove,  sprang  up  with  a  yell  of  terror  and 
made  but  two  jumps  to  the  open  door.  Coming  on 
top  of  all  his  other  trials — the  revolt  of  his  own 
13 


212  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

little  Minna,  the  defection  of  Aunt  Hedwig,  and 
the  almost  open  enmity  of  Ilerr  Solmstein — this 
compulsory  surrender  of  all  his  hope  of  honest  fame 
was  indeed  a  deadly  blow. 

Gottlieb  smoked  on  in  sullen  anger;  his  heart  torn 
and  tortured,  and  his  mind  filled  with  a  confusion  of 
bitter  evil  thoughts.  And  presently — for  the  devil 
is  at  every  man's  elbow,  ready  to  take  advantage  of 
any  sudden  weakness,  or  turn  to  his  own  purposes 
any  too  great  strength — these  thoughts  grew  more 
evil  and  more  clear :  until  they  fairly  resolved  them 
selves  into  the  determination  to  steal  from  Hans  the 
recipe  for  making  lebkuchen,  and  so  to  crush  com 
pletely  his  rival  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  certain 
his  own  fortune  and  fame. 

Of  course  the  devil  did  not  plant  the  notion  of 
theft  in  Gottlieb's  mind  in  this  bald  fashion ;  for 
the  devil  is  a  most  considerate  person,  and  ever 
shows  a  courteous  disposition  to  spare  the  feelings 
of  those  whom  he  would  lead  into  sin.  No :  the 
temptation  that  he  suggested  was  the  subtle  and 
ingenious  one  that  Gottlieb  should  proceed  to  re 
cover  his  own  stolen  property !  His  logic  was  ad 
mirable  :  Hans  had  been  Gottlieb's  assistant ;  and 
as  such  Gottlieb  had  owned  him  and  his  recipe  as 
well.  When  Hans  went  away  and  took  the  recipe 
with  him,  he  took  that  which  still  belonged  to  his 
master.  Therefore,  triumphantly  argued  the  devil, 
Gottlieb  had  a  perfect  right  to  regain  the  recipe 
either  by  fair  means  or  by  foul.  And  finally,  as  a 
bit  of  supplementary  devil-logic,  the  thought  was 


A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  213 

suggested  that  inasmuch  as  Hans  certainly  must 
know  the  recipe  by  heart,  the  mere  loss  of  the  paper 
on  which  it  was  written  would  not  be  any  real  loss 
to  him  at  all!  It  is  only  fair  to  Gottlieb's  good 
angel  to  state  that  during  this  able  presentment  of 
the  wrong  side  of  the  case  he  did  venture  to  hint 
once  or  twice — in  the  feeble,  perfunctory  sort  of 
way  that  unfortunately  seems  to  be  characteristic 
of  good  angels  when  their  services  really  are  most 
urgently  required — that  the  whole  matter  might  be 
compromised  satisfactorily  to  all  the  parties  in  inter 
est  by  permitting  Hans  to  marry  Minna,  and  by  then 
taking  him  into  partnership  in  the  bakery.  And  it 
is  only  just  to  Gottlieb  to  state  that  to  these  faint 
hearted  suggestions  of  his  good  angel  he  did  not 
give  one  moment's  heed. 

Now  the  devil  is  a  thorough-going  sort  of  a  per 
son,  and  having  planted  the  evil  wish  in  Gottlieb's 
soul  he  lost  no  time  in  opening  to  him  an  evil  way 
to  its  accomplishment.  When  Hans,  a  stranger  in 
New  York,  had  come  to  work  at  the  Cafe  Niirn- 
berg,  Gottlieb  had  commended  him  to  the  good 
graces  of  a  friend  of  his,  a  highly  respectable  little 
round  Brunswicker  widow  who  let  lodgings,  and 
in  the  comfortable  quarters  thus  provided  for  him 
Hans  ever  since  had  remained.  In  this  same  house 
lodged  also  one  of  Gottlieb's  apprentices  —  a  loose 
young  fellow,  for  whose  proper  regulation  the  widow 
more  than  once  had  been  compelled  to  seek  his 
master's  counsel  and  aid.  In  this  combination  of 
circumstances,  to  which  the  devil  now  directed  his 


214  A    EOMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

attention,  Gottlieb  saw  his  opportunity.  It  was  easy 
to  make  the  widow  believe  that  the  loose  young 
apprentice  had  taken  the  short  step  from  looseness 
to  crime,  and  that  a  suspicion  of  theft  rested  upon 
him  so  heavily  as  to  justify  the  searching  of  his 
room  ;  it  was  easy  to  make  the  widow  keep  guard 
below  while  Gottlieb  searched  ;  and  it  was  very  easy 
then  to  search,  not  for  imaginary  stolen  goods  in 
the  chest  of  the  apprentice,  but  for  that  which  he 
himself  wanted  to  steal  from  the  chest  of  Hans 
Kuhn.  As  to  opening  the  chest  there  was  no  diffi 
culty  at  all.  Gottlieb  had  half  a  dozen  Ntirnberg 
locks  in  his  house,  and  he  had  counted,  as  the  event 
proved  correctly,  upon  making  the  key  of  one  of 
these  locks  serve  his  turn.  And  in  the  chest,  with 
out  any  trouble  at  all,  he  found  a  leather  wallet,  and 
in  the  wallet  the  precious  recipe — written  on  parch 
ment  in  old  High  German  that  he  found  very  difficult 
to  read,  and  dated  in  Nurnberg  in  the  year  1603. 
Gottlieb  was  pale  as  death  as  he  went  down-stairs 
to  the  widow ;  and  his  teeth  fairly  chattered  as  he 
told  her  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  He  tried  to 
say  that  the  apprentice  was  not  a  thief — but  the  word 
dieb  somehow  stuck  in  his  throat.  Keen  chills  pen 
etrated  him  as  he  almost  ran  through  the  streets  to 
his  home.  For  the  devil,  who  heretofore  had  been 
in  front  of  him  and  had  only  beckoned,  now  was  be 
hind  him  and  was  driving  him  with  a  right  good 
will. 

When  he  entered  the  room  at  the  back  of  the  shop, 
where  Minna  was  sewing,  and  where  Herr  Sohnstein, 


A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  215 

with  his  arm  comfortably  around  Aunt  Hedwig's 
waist,  was  smoking  his  long  pipe,  he  created  a  stir 
of  genuine  alarm.  As  Aunt  Hedwig  very  truly 
said,  he  looked  as  though  he  had  seen  a  ghost.  Herr 
Sohnstein,  of  a  more  practical  turn  of  mind,  asked 
him  if  he  had  been  knocked  down  and  robbed  ;  and 
the  word  beraubt  grated  most  harshly  upon  Gott 
lieb's  ears.  But  what  cut  him  most  of  all  was  the 
way  in  which  Minna — forgetting  all  his  late  unkind- 
ness  at  sight  of  his  pale,  frightened  face — sprang  to 
him  with  open  arms,  and  with  all  the  old  love  in  her 
voice  asked  him  to  tell  her  what  had  gone  wrong. 
Under  these  favoring  conditions,  Gottlieb's  good 
angel  bestirred  himself  somewhat  more  vigorously, 
and  for  a  moment  it  seemed  not  impossible  that 
right  might  triumph  over  wrong.  But  the  devil 
bustled  promptly  upon  the  scene,  and  of  course  had 
things  all  his  own  way  again  in  a  moment.  It  cer 
tainly  is  most  unfortunate  that  good  angels,  as  a 
rule,  are  so  weak  in  their  angelic  knees  ! 

Gottlieb  pushed  Minna  aw^ay  from  him  roughly  ; 
addressed  to  Aunt  Hedwig  the  impolite  remark  that 
ghosts  only  were  seen  by  women  and  fools;  in  a  surly 
tone  informed  Herr  Sohnstein  that  policemen  still 
were  plentiful  in  the  vicinity  of  Tompkins  Square  ; 
and  then,  having  planted  these  barbed  arrows  in  the 
breasts  of  his  daughter,  his  sister,  and  his  friend, 
sought  the  retirement  of  his  own  upper  room.  As  he 
left  them,  Minna  buried  her  face  in  Aunt  Hedwig's 
capacious  bosom  and  cried  bitterly,  and  Aunt  Hed 
wig  also  cried  ;  and  Herr  Sohnstein,  laying  aside 


216  A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

for  the  moment  his  pipe,  put  his  arms  protectingly 
around  them  both.     They  all  were  very  miserable. 

In  the  upper  room,  where  the  air  seemed  so  sti 
fling  that  he  had  to  open  the  window  wide  in  order 
to  breathe,  Gottlieb  was  very  miserable  too.  He 
was  fleeing  into  Tarshish,  this  temporarily  wicked- 
baker;  and  just  as  fell  out  in  the  case  of  that  other 
one  who  fled  to  Tarshish,  his  flight  was  a  failure : 
for  this  little  world  of  ours  is  far  too  small  to  give 
any  one  a  chance  to  run  away  from  committed  sin. 

Gottlieb  tried  to  divert  his  thoughts  from  his 
crime,  and  at  the  same  time  tried  to  reap  its  reward 
by  studying  the  stolen  recipe ;  but  his  attempt  was 
not  successful.  The  cramped  letters,  brown  with 
age,  on  the  brown  parchment,  danced  before  his 
eyes ;  and  the  quaint,  intricate  High  German  phra 
seology  became  more  and  more  involved.  He  could 
make  nothing  of  it  at  all.  And  the  thought  oc 
curred  to  him  that  perhaps  he  never  would  be  able 
to  make  anything  of  it — that,  without  losing  any 
part  of  the  penalty  justly  attendant  upon  his  crime, 
the  crime  itself  might  prove  to  be,  so  far  as  the 
practical  benefit  that  he  sought  was  concerned,  ab 
solutely  futile.  As  this  dreadful  possibility  arose 
before  his  mind  a  faintness  and  giddiness  came  over 
him.  The  room  seemed  to  be  whirling  around  him  ; 
life  seemed  to  be  slipping  awajr  from  him ;  there  was 
a  strange,  horrible  ringing  in  his  ears.  He  leaned 
forward  over  the  table  at  which  he  was  sitting  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Then,  possibly,  Gottlieb  fell  asleep,  though  of  this 


A   KOMANCE    OP   TOMPKIXS    SQUARE.  217 

he  never  felt  really  sure.  What  is  quite  certain 
is  that  he  saw,  as  clearly  as  he  ever  saw  her  in  life, 
his  dear  dead  Minna ;  but  with  a  face  so  sad,  so  re 
proachful,  so  full  of  piteous  entreaty,  that  his  blood 
seemed  to  stand  still,  while  a  consuming  coldness 
settled  upon  his  heart.  He  struggled  to  speak  with 
her,  to  assure  her  that  he  would  repair  the  evil  that 
he  had  done,  to  plead  for  forgiveness  ;  but,  for  all 
his  striving,  no  other  words  would  come  to  his  lips 
save  those  which  a  little  while  before  he  had  spoken 
so  roughly  to  poor  Aunt  Hedwig:  "The  only  peo 
ple  who  see  ghosts  are  women  and  fools !" 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  he  found  himself  still 
seated  at  the  table,  the  brown  parchment  still  spread 
out  before  him,  and  the  faint  light  of  early  morning 
breaking  into  the  room.  The  window  was  wide 
open,  as  he  had  left  it,  and  he  was  chilled  to  the 
marrow ;  he  had  a  shocking  cold  in  the  head  ;  there 
were  rheumatic  twinges  in  all  his  joints  as  he  arose. 
What  with  the  physical  misery  arising  from  these 
causes,  and  the  moral  misery  arising  from  his  sense 
of  committed  sin,  he  was  in  about  as  desperately  bad 
a  humor  with  himself  as  a  man  could  be.  He  was 
in  no  mood  to  make  another  effort  to  read  the  diffi 
cult  German  of  the  recipe,  the  cause  of  all  his  troubles. 
The  sight  of  it  pained  him,  and  he  thrust  it  hurried 
ly  into  an  old  desk  in  which  were  stored  (and  these 
also  were  a  source  of  pain  to  him)  several  generations 
of  uncollected  bills — practical  proofs  that  the  adage 
in  regard  to  the  impossibility  of  simultaneously  pos 
sessing  cakes  and  pennies  does  not  always  hold  good. 


218  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

He  locked  the  desk  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket; 
and  then  returned  the  key  to  the  lock  and  left  it 
there,  as  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  the  lock 
ing  of  this  desk,  that  never  in  all  the  years  that  he 
had  owned  it  had  been  locked  before,  might  arouse 

'  O 

suspicion.  It  seemed  most  natural  to  Gottlieb  that 
his  actions  should  be  regarded  with  suspicion  ;  he 
had  a  feeling  that  already  his  crime  must  be  known 
to  half  the  world. 

And  before  night  it  certainly  is  true  that  the  one 
person  most  deeply  interested  in  the  discovery  and 
punishment  of  Gottlieb's  crime — that  is  to  say,  Hans 
Kuhn — did  know  all  about  it ;  which  fact  would 
seem  surprising,  considering  how  skilfully  Gottlieb 
had  gone  about  his  work,  were  it  not  remembered 
that  his  unwitting  accessory  had  been  the  little 
round  Brun s wicker  widow,  and  were  it  not  known 
that  little  round  widows — Brunswick  born  or  born 
elsewhere  —  as  a  class  are  incapable  of  keeping  a 
secret. 

This  excellent  woman,  to  do  her  justice,  had  fol 
lowed  Gottlieb's  orders  to  the  letter.  He  had  warned 
her  not  to  tell  the  loose  apprentice  that  his  chest  had 
been  searched  ;  and,  so  far  as  that  apprentice  was  con 
cerned,  wild  horses  might  have  been  employed  to 
drag  that  little  round  widow  to  pieces — at  least  she 
might  have  permitted  the  wild  horses  to  be  hitched 
up  to  her — before  ever  an  indiscreet  word  would 
have  passed  her  lips.  But  when  Hans  Kuhn,  for 
whom  she  entertained  a  high  respect,  and  for  whom 
she  had  also  that  warmly  friendly  feeling  which  trig 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  219 

middle -aged  widows  not  seldom  manifest  towards 
good-looking  young  men,  came  to  her  in  a  fine  state 
of  wrath,  and  told  her  that  his  chest  had  been  ran 
sacked  (he  did  not  tell  her  of  his  loss,  for  he  had  not 
himself  observed  it),  she  did  riot  consider  that  she 
violated  any  confidence  in  telling  him  everything 
that  had  occurred.  It  was  all  a  mistake,  she  said  ; 
the  Herr  Brekel  had  gone  into  the  wrong  room  ;  she 
must  set  the  matter  right  at  once  ;  that  bad  young 
man  might  be  a  thief,  after  all.  Hans  felt  a  cold 
thrill  run  through  him  at  the  widow's  words.  But 
he  controlled  himself  so  well  that  she  did  not  sus 
pect  his  inward  perturbation  ;  and  she  accepted  in  as 
good  faith  his  offer  to  inform  the  Herr  Brekel  of  his 
error  as  she  did,  a  day  later,  his  assurance  that  the 
matter  had  been  satisfactorily  adjusted,  and  that  the 
innocence  of  the  apprentice  had  been  proved. 

And  then  Hans  returned  to  his  violated  chest,  and 
found  that  the  dread  which  had  assailed  his  soul  was 
founded  in  substantial  truth — the  recipe  was  gone  ! 
In  itself  the  loss  of  the  recipe  was  no  very  great 
matter,  for  he  knew  it  by  heart ;  but  that  Gottlieb — 
who  had  also  a  cellar  full  of  rich  old  honey -cake — 
should  have  gained  possession  of  it  was  a  desperate 
matter  indeed.  Here  instantly  was  an  end  to  the 
hope  of  successful  rivalry  that  Hans  had  cherished; 
and  with  the  wreck  of  his  luck  in  trade,  as  it  seemed 
to  him  in  the  first  shock  of  his  misfortune,  away  in 
fragments  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven  was  scattered 
every  vestige  of  probability  that  he  would  have  luck 
in  love.  Being  so  suddenly  confronted  with  a  com- 


220  A    KOMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

pound  catastrophe  so  overwhelming,  even  a  bolder 
baker  than  Hans  Kuhn  very  well  might  have  been 
for  a  time  aghast. 

But  as  his  wits  slowly  came  together  again  Hans 
perceived  that  the  game  was  not  by  any  means  lost, 
after  all  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  looked  very  much  as 
though  he  had  it  pretty  well  in  his  own  hands. 
Gottlieb  was  a  thief,  and  all  that  was  needed  to  com 
plete  the  chain  of  evidence  against  him  was  his  first 
baking  of  lebkuchen  ;  for  that  as  clearly  would  prove 
him  to  be  in  possession  of  the  stolen  recipe  as  what 
the  widow  could  tell  would  prove  that  he  had  created 
for  himself  an  opportunity  to  steal  it.  The  most 
agreeable  way  of  winning  a  father-in-law  is  not  by 
force  of  threatening  to  hale  him  to  a  police  court, 
but  it  is  better  to  win  him  that  way  than  not  to  win 
him  at  all,  Hans  thought ;  and  he  thought  also  that 
this  was  one  of  the  occasions  when  it  was  quite  jus 
tifiable  to  fight  the  devil  with  fire.  So  his  spirits 
rose,  and  now  he  longed  for,  as  eagerly  as  in  the  first 
moments  of  his  loss  he  had  dreaded,  the  production 
of  such  lebkuchen  at  the  Cafe  Niirnberg  as  would 
prove  the  proprietor  of  that  highly  respectable  estab 
lishment  to  be  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  robber. 

Hans  was  both  annoyed  and  surprised  as  time 
passed  on  and  the  "cakes  succulent  but  damnatory" 
were  not  forthcoming  from  Gottlieb's  oven.  He 
himself  went  on  making  unsatisfactory  lebkuchen  of 
bad  materials  by  a  good  formula,  and  Gottlieb  con 
tinued  to  make  unsatisfactory  lebkuchen  by  a  bad 
formula  of  the  best  materials.  Orthodox  German 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAKE.  221 

palates  found  nothing  to  commend  and  much  to  rep 
robate  in  both  results.  This  was  the  situation  for 
several  weeks.  Hans  could  not  understand  it  at  all. 
The  subject  wras  a  delicate  one  to  broach  to  Minna 
during  their  short  but  blissful  interviews  about  dusk 
in  the  central  fastnesses  of  Tompkins  Square,  at 
which  interviews  Aunt  Hedwig  winked  and  Herr 
Sohnstein  openly  connived  by  keeping  watch  for 
them  against  Gottlieb's  possible  appearance ;  for 
Hans  had  determined  that  until  he  had  positive 
proof  to  go  upon  he  would  keep  secret,  and  most  of 
all  from  Minna,  the  dreadful  fact  of  her  father's 
crime.  Therefore  did  he  remain  in  a  state  of  very 
harrowing  uncertainty,  with  his  plan  of  campaign 
completely  brought  to  a  stand. 

During  this  period  a  heavy  cloud  hung  over  the 
Cafe  Ntirnberg.  Gottlieb  came  fitfully  to  his  meals  ; 
and  when  he  did  come,  he  ate  almost  nothing.  Each 
day  he  grew  more  and  more  morose  ;  each  night, 
when  poor  Aunt  Hedwig  was  not  kept  awake  by  her 
own  sorrowful  thoughts,  her  slumbers  were  broken 
by  hearing  her  brother  pacing  heavily  the  floor  of 
the  adjoining  room.  In  some  sort  he  made  up  for 
his  loss  of  sleep  at  night  by  sleeping  of  an  evening 
in  the  little  room  back  of  the  shop,  falling  into  rest 
less  naps  (when  he  should  have  been  restfully  smok 
ing  his  long  pipe),  from  which  he  would  wake  with 
a  start  and  sometimes  with  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  would 
dart  furtive  horrified  glances  at  Aunt  Hedwig  and 
Herr  Sohnstein  :  who  were  doing  nothing  of  a  horri 
fying  nature,  only  sitting  cozily  close  together,  more 


222  A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

or  less  enfolded  in  each  other's  arms.  It  was  a  lit 
tle  inconsiderate  on  the  part  of  the  lovers,  and  very 
hard  on  Minna,  this  extremely  open  love  -  making  ; 
for  Minna's  love-making  necessarily  was  by  fitful 
snatches  amid  the  bleak  desolations  of  Tompkins 
Square.  They  would  try  to  comfort  each  other,  she 
and  Hans,  as  they  stood  cheerlessly  under  the  chill 
lee  of  the  music  stand;  but  their  outlook  was  a  dreary 
one,  and  their  efforts  in  this  direction  were  not 
crowned  with  any  great  success.  Sometimes  as 
Minna  came  home  again  along  the  west  side  of  the 
square,  and  saw  in  Spengler's  window  the  wreaths  of 
highly-artificial  immortelles  with  the  word  "  Ruhe  " 
upon  them  in  vivid  purple  letters,  she  fairly  would 
fall  to  crying  over  the  thought  that  until  she  should 
become  a  fit  subject  for  such  a  wreath  there  was 
small  chance  that  any  real  rest  would  be  hers. 

However,  all  this  is  aside  from  Gottlieb's  horrified 
looks  as  lie  waked  from  his  troubled  slumbers — looks 
which  would  disappear  as  he  became  thoroughly 
aroused,  but  only  to  return  again  after  his  next  un 
easy  nap.  One  day  he  startled  Aunt  Hedwig  by 
asking  her  if  she  believed  in  ghosts.  Remember 
ing  his  severe  words  in  condemnation  of  her  casual 
reference  to  these  supernatural  beings,  it  was  with 
some  hesitation  that  she  replied  that  she  did.  Still 
more  to  her  surprise,  Gottlieb  turned  away  from  her 
hurriedly,  yet  not  so  hurriedly  but  that  she  saw  a 
strange,  scared  look  upon  his  face,  and  in  a  low  and 
trembling  voice  replied  :  "  And  so  do  I  !" 

And  now  the  fact  may  as  well  be  admitted  frankly 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAEE.  223 

that  a  ghost  was  the  disturbing  element  that  was  mak 
ing  Gottlieb's  life  go  wrong ;  that,  as  there  seemed 
to  be  every  reason  to  believe,  was  hurrying  him  to 
wards  the  grave  :  for  a  middle  -  aged  German  who 
refuses  to  eat,  whose  regular  sleep  forsakes  him,  and 
who  actually  gives  up  smoking,  naturally  cannot  be 
expected  to  remain  long  in  this  world. 

It  was  the  ghost  of  his  dead  wife.  At  first  she 
appeared  to  him  only  in  his  dreams,  standing  beside 
the  desk  in  which  he  had  placed  the  stolen  recipe  for 
making  lebkuchen,  and  holding  down  the  lid  of  that 
desk  with  a  firm  but  diaphanous  white  hand.  Pres 
ently  she  appeared  to  him  quite  as  clearly  in  his 
waking  hours.  Her  face  still  wore  an  expression  at 
once  tender  and  reproachful ;  but  every  day  the  look 
of  tenderness  diminished,  while  the  look  of  reproach 
grew  stronger  and  more  stern.  Each  time  that  he 
sought  to  open  the  desk  that  he  might  take  thence  the 
recipe  and  make  his  crime  a  practical  business  success, 
the  figure  assumed  an  air  so  terribly  menacing  that 
his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  gave  over  the  attempt. 

This,  then,  was  the  all-sufficient  reason  why  the 
good  lebkuchen  that  would  have  proved  Gottlieb  a 
thief  was  not  for  sale  at  the  Cafe  Nurnberg  ;  and  this 
was  the  reason  why  Gottlieb  himself,  broken  down 
by  loss  of  food  and  sleep  and  by  the  nervous  wear 
and  tear  incident  to  forced  companionship  with  an 
angry  ghost,  was  drawing  each  day  nearer  and  nearer 
to  that  dark  portal  through  which  bakers  and  all 
other  people  pass  hence  into  the  shadowy  region 
whence  there  is  no  return. 


224  A    ROMANCE    OF    TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

Gottlieb  Brekel  never  had  been  an  especially  pious 
man.  As  became  a  reputable  German  citizen,  he  had 
paid  regularly  the  rent  of  a  pew  in  the  Church  of  the 
Redemptorist  Fathers  in  Third  Street ;  but,  except 
ing  on  such  high  feasts  as  Christmas  and  Easter,  he 
usually  had  been  content  to  occupy  it  and  to  discharge 
his  religious  duties  at  large  vicariously.  Aunt  Hed- 
wig's  bonnet  invariably  was  the  most  brilliantly  con 
spicuous  feature  of  the  entire  congregation,  just  as 
the  prettiest  face  in  the  entire  congregation  invaria 
bly  was  Minna's.  But  now  that  Gottlieb  was  con 
fronted  with  a  spiritual  difficulty,  it  occurred  to  him 
that  he  might  advantageously  resort  in  his  extremity 
to  spiritual  aid.  He  had  no  very  clear  notion  how 
the  aid  would  be  given ;  he  was  not  even  clear  as  to 
how  he  ought  to  set  about  asking  for  it  ;  and  he  was 
troubled  by  the  conviction  that  in  order  to  obtain  it 
he  must  not  only  repent  of  his  sin,  but  must  make 
atonement  by  restitution — a  possibility  (for  the  devil 
still  had  a  good  grip  upon  him)  that  made  him  hesi 
tate  a  long  while  before  he  set  about  purchasing  ease 
for  his  conscience  at  so  heavy  a  material  cost.  How 
ever,  his  good  angel  at  last  managed  to  pluck  up 
some  courage — it  was  high  time — and,  strengthened 
by  this  tardily  given  assistance,  he  betook  himself  in 
search  of  consolation  within  church  walls. 

The  Church  of  the  Redemptorist  Fathers  is  a  very 
beautiful  church,  and  at  all  times — save  through  the 
watches  of  the  night  and  through  one  mid-day  hour 
— its  doors  stand  hospitably  open,  silently  inviting 
poor  sinners,  weary  and  heavy  laden  with  their  sins, 


A   EOMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  225 

to  enter  into  the  calm  of  its  quiet  holiness  and  there 
find  rest.  Tall,  slender  pillars  uphold  its  vaulted 
roof)  in  the  groinings  of  which  lurk  mysterious  shad 
ows.  Below,  a  warm,  rich  light  comes  through  the 
stained -glass  windows:  whereon  are  pictured  the 
blessed  St.  Alphonsus  Maria  de  Liguori,  founder  of 
the  Redemptorist  Congregation,  blessedly  instruct 
ing  the  chubby-faced  choristers;  and  the  Venerable 
Clement  Hofbauer,  "primus  in  Germania"  of  the 
Redemptorists,  all  in  his  black  gown,  kneeling,  pray 
ing  no  doubt  for  the  outcast  German  souls  for  the 
saving  of  which  he  worked  so  hard  and  so  well;  and 
(a  picture  that  Minna  dearly  loved)  St.  Joseph  and 
the  sweet  Virgin  and  the  little  Christ-child  fleeing 
together  through  the  desert  from  the  wrath  of  the 

O  O 

Judean  king.  And  ranged  around  the  walls  on  perches 
high  aloft  are  statues  of  various  minor  saints  and  of 
the  Twelve  Apostles ;  of  which  Minna's  favorite  was 
the  Apostle  Matthias,  because  this  saint,  with  his 
high  forehead  tending  towards  baldness,  and  his  long 
gray  beard  and  gray  hair,  and  his  kindly  face,  and 
even  the  axe  in  his  hand  (that  was  not  unlike  a  ba 
ker's  peel),  made  her  think  always  of  her  dear  father. 
The  pew  that  Gottlieb  paid  for  so  regularly,  and  so 
irregularly  occupied,  was  just  beneath  the  statue  of 
this  saint;  which,  however,  gave  Minna  less  pleasure 
than  would  have  been  hers  had  not  the  next  saint  in 
the  row  been  the  Apostle  Simon  with  his  dreadful 
saw.  It  must  have  hurt  so  horribly  to  be  sawed  in 
two,  she  thought.  In  the  dusky  depths  of  the  great 
chancel  gleamed  the  white  marble  of  the  beautiful 


226  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

altar,  guarded  by  St.  Peter  with  his  keys  and  St. 
Paul  with  his  naked  two-edged  sword ;  and  above 
the  altar  was  the  dead  Christ  on  Calvary,  with  His 
desolate  mother  and  the  despairing  Magdalene  and 
St.  John  the  divine. 

Into  this  beautiful  church  it  was  that  Gottlieb,  led 
thither  by  his  good  angel,  entered;  and  the  devil- 
raging  in  the  terrible  but  impotent  fashion  that  is 
habitual  with  devils  when  they  see  slipping  away 
from  their  snares  the  souls  which  they  thought  to 
win  to  wickedness — of  course  was  forced  to  remain 
outside.  But  what  feelings  of  keen  repentance  filled 
this  poor  sinning  baker's  heart  within  that  holy  place, 
what  good  resolves  came  to  him,  what  light  and  re 
freshment  irradiated  and  cheered  his  darkened,  har 
ried  soul — all  these  are  things  which  better  may  be 
suggested  here  than  written  out  in  full.  For  these 
things  are  so  real,  so  sacred,  and  so  beautiful  with  a 
heavenly  beauty,  that  they  may  not  lightly  be  used 
for  decorative  purposes  in  mere  romance. 

Let  it  suffice,  then,  to  tell  —  for  so  is  our  poor 
human  stuff  put  together  that  trivial  commonplace 
facts  often  exhibit  most  searchingly  the  changes  for 
good  or  for  evil  which  have  come  to  pass  in  our  in 
most  souls— that  Gottlieb,  on  returning  to  the  Cafe 
Niirnberg,  ate  a  prodigious  dinner  ;  and  after  his 
dinner,  for  the  first  time  in  a  fortnight,  smoked  a 
thoroughly  refreshing  pipe. 

Over  his  dinner  and  his  pipe  he  was  silent,  mani 
festing,  however,  a  sort  of  sheepishness  and  constraint 
that  were  not  less  strange  in  the  eyes  of  Aunt  Hed- 


A   ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAKE.  227 

wig  and  Minna  than  was  the  sudden  revival  of  his 
interest  in  tobacco  and  food.  As  he  smoked,  a  pleas 
ant  thought  came  to  him.  When  he  had  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe  he  ordered  Minna,  surlily,  to 
bring'  him  his  hat  and  coat  ;  he  must  pay  a  visit  to 
that  rascal  Sohnstein,  he  said;  and  so  went  out.  He 
left  the  two  women  lost  in  wonder;  and  Aunt  Hed- 
wig,  because  of  his  characterization  of  her  dear 
Sohnstein  as  a  rascal,  disposed  to  weep.  And  yet, 
somehow,  they  both  felt  that  the  storm  was  breaking, 
and  that  clear  weather  was  at  hand.  There  was  no 
body  in  the  shop  just  then;  and  the  two,  standing 
behind  the  rampart  of  freshly-baked  cakes  that  was 
high  heaped  up  upon  the  counter,  embraced  each 
other  and  mingled  tears,  which  they  knew — by  rea 
son  of  the  womanly  instinct  that  was  in  them — were 
tears  of  joy. 

And  that  very  evening  the  prophecy  of  happiness 
that  was  in  their  joyful  sorrow  was  happily  fulfilled. 

C4ottlieb  did  not  return  to  the  Cafe  Niirnberg  until 
after  nine  o'clock.  With  him  came  Herr  Sohnstein. 
They  both  were  very  grave  and  silent,  yet  both  ex 
hibited  a  most  curious  twinklesorneness  in  their  eyes. 
Neither  Aunt  Hedwig  nor  Minna  could  make  any 
thing  of  their  strange  mood;  and  Aunt  Iledwig  was 
put  to  her  trumps  completely  when  she  was  sure  that 
she  saw  her  brother— who  was  whispering  to  Herr 
Sohnstein  behind  the  pie-counter — poke  the  notary 
in  the  ribs.  As  to  the  joint  chuckle  at  that  moment 
of  those  two  mysterious  men  there  could  be  no  doubt; 
she  heard  it  distinctly  ! 

14 


228  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAEE. 

Still  further  to  Aunt  lied  wig's  surprise,  for  the 
Cafe  Niirnberg  never  was  closed  before  ten  o'clock, 
and  usually  remained  open  much  later,  Gottlieb  him 
self  began  to  put  up  the  shutters ;  and  when  this 
work  was  finished  he  came  back  into  the  shop  and 
locked  behind  him  the  double  front  door.  Almost 
as  he  turned  the  key  there  was  a  knock  outside,  as 
though  somebody  actually  had  been  waiting  in  the 
street  for  the  signal  that  the  closing  of  the  shutters 
gave. 

"Another  rascal  would  come  in  already,  Solm- 
stein,"  said  Gottlieb,  gruffly.  "  Open  for  him,  but 
lock  the  door  again.  I  must  go  up-stairs." 

Gottlieb,  with  a  queer  smile  upon  his  face,  left  the 
little  back  room;  and  a  moment  later  Minna  uttered 
a  cry  of  surprise,  as  Herr  Sohnstein  unlocked  the 
door  and  her  own  Hans  entered  the  shop.  What, 
she  thought,  could  all  these  wonders  mean  ?  As  for 
Aunt  Hedwig,  she  had  sunk  down  into  her  big  arm 
chair  and  her  bright  black  eyes  seemed  to  be  fairly 
starting  from  her  head. 

Herr  Sohnstein  locked  the  door  again,  as  he  had 
been  ordered  to  do,  and  then  brought  Hans  through 
the  shop  and  into  the  little  back  room.  Hans  evi 
dently  was  not  a  party  to  the  mystery,  whatever  the 
mystery  might  be.  He  looked  at  Minna  as  wonder- 
ingly  as  she  looked  at  him,  and  he  was  distressingly 
ill  at  ease.  But  there  was  no  time  for  either  of  them 
to  ask  questions,  for  as  Hans  entered  the  room  from 
the  shop,  Gottlieb  returned  to  it.  In  his  hand  Gott 
lieb  held  the  brown  old  parchment  on  which  the  leb- 


A    KOHANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  229 

kuchen  recipe  was  written  ;  the  smile  had  left  his 
face;  he  was  very  pale.  For  a  moment  there  was  an 
awkward  pause.  Then  Gottlieb,  trembling  a  little 
as  he  walked,  crossed  the  room  to  where  Hans  stood 
and  placed  the  parchment  in  his  hands.  And  it  was 
in  a  trembling,  broken  voice  that  Gottlieb  said : 

"  Hans,  a  most  wicked  man  have  I  been.  But  my 
dead  Minna  has  helped  me,  and  here  I  give  again  to 
thee  what  I  stole  from  thy  chest — I  who  was  a  rob 
ber."  Then  Gottlieb  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  presently  each  of  his  bony  knuckles  sparkled 
with  a  pendant  tear. 

"  My  own  dear  father  !"  said  Minna;  and  her  arms 
were  around  him,  and  her  head  was  pressed  close 
upon  his  breast. 

"My  own  good  brother,  thou  couldst  not  be  a 
thief  !"  said  Aunt  Hedwig  ;  and,  so  saying,  clasped 
her  stout  arms  around  them  both. 

"  My  good  old  friend  !  all  now  is  right  again," 
said  Herr  Sohnstein  ;  who  then  affected  to  put  his 
arms  around  the  three,  but  really  embraced  only 
Aunt  Hedwig.  However,  there  was  quite  enough  of 
Aunt  Hedwig  to  fill  even  Herr  Sohnstein's  long  arms; 
and  he  made  the  average  of  his  one-third  of  an  em 
brace  all  right  by  bestowing  it  with  a  threefold 
energy. 

The  position  of  Hans  as  he  regarded  this  affection 
ately  writhing  group  (that  was  not  unsuggestive  of 
the  Laocoon :  with  a  new  motive,  a  fourth  figure,  a 
commendable  addition  of  draperies,  and  a  conspicu 
ous  lack  of  serpents)  would  have  been  awkward 


230  A   KOMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUAEE. 

under  any  circumstances  ;  and  as  the  circumstances 
were  sufficiently  awkward  to  begin  with,  he  was 
very  much  embarrassed  indeed.  To  Aunt  Hed- 
wig's  credit  be  it  said  that  she  was  the  first  (after 
Minna,  of  course  ;  and  Minna  could  not  properly 
act  in  the  premises)  to  perceive  his  forsaken  con 
dition. 

"Come,  Hans,"  said  the  good  Hedwig,  her  voice 
shaken  by  emotion  and  the  tightness  of  Herr  Sohn- 
stein's  grip  about  her  waist. 

"  Thou  hadst  better  come,  Hans,"  added  Herr 
Sohnstein,  jollily. 

"  Wilt  thou  come,  Hans — and  forgive  me  ?"  Gott 
lieb  asked. 

But  it  was  not  until  Minna  said,  very  faintly,  yet 
with  a  heavenly  sweetness  in  her  voice:  "  Thou  mayst 
come,  Hans!"  that  Hans  actually  came. 

And  then  for  a  while  there  was  such  hearty  em 
bracing  of  as  much  of  the  other  four  as  each  of  them 
could  grasp  that  the  like  of  it  all  for  good-will  and 
lovingness  never  had  been  seen  in  a  bakery  before. 
And  Gottlieb's  good  angel  exulted  greatly;  and  the 
devil,  who  had  lingered  about  the  premises  in  the 
hope  that  even  at  the  eleventh  hour  the  powers  of 
evil  might  get  the  better  of  the  powers  of  good,  ac 
knowledged  his  defeat  with  a  howl  of  baffled  rage : 
and  then  fled  away  in  ,a  blue  flame  and  a  flash  of 
lio-htnincr  that  made  the  waters  of  the  East  River 

O  O 

(which  stream  he  was  compelled  to  wade,  thanks  to 
General  Newton,  who  took  away  his  stepping-stones) 
fairly  hiss  and  bubble.  And  never  did  he  dare  to 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS   SQUARE.  233 

show  so  much  as  the  end  of  his  wicked  nose  in  the 
Cafe  Niirnberg  again ! 

"But  thou  wilt  not  take  from  me  this  little  one, 
my  daughter,  Hans?"  Gottlieb  asked,  when  they 
had  somewhat  disentangled  themselves.  "Thou 
wilt  come  and  live  with  us,  and  be  my  partner,  and 
together  we  will  make  the  good  lebkuchen  once 
more.  Is  it  not  so  ?"  . 

Hans  found  this  a  trying  question.  He  looked 
at  Herr  Sohnstein,  doubtfully.  "Ah,"  said  Herr 
Sohnstein,  "  thou  meanest  that  a  very  hard-hearted, 
money-lending  man  has  hired  a  shop  for  thee  and 
has  made  it  the  most  splendid  bakery  and  the  finest 
restaurant  on  all  the  East  Side,  eh  ?  And  thou  art 
afraid  that  this  man,  this  old  miser  man,  will  keep 
thee  to  thy  bargainings,  already  ?" 

Hans  gave  a  deprecating  nod  of  assent. 

"  Well,  my  boy  Hans,"  Herr  Sohnstein  continued, 
with  great  good -humor,  and  sliding  his  arm  well 
around  Aunt  Hedwig's  generous  waist  again  as  he 
spoke — "  well,  my  boy  Hans,  let  me  tell  thee  that 
that  bad  old  miser  man  is  not  one-half  so  bad  as  thou 
wouldst  think.  Dost  thou  remember  that  when  he 
had  a  garden  made  upon  the  roof  of  that  fine  bakery, 
and  thou  toldst  to  him  that  to  make  a  garden  there 
was  to  waste  his  money,  what  he  said  ?  Did  he  not 
say  that  if  he  made  the  garden  God  would  send  the 
flowers?  And  when  that  fine  sign  was  made  with 
'  Niirnberger  Bakerei'  upon  it,  and  thou  toldst  to  him 
that  to  take  that  name  of  JSTiirnberg  was  not  fair 
to  his  old  friend,  did  he  not  tell  thee  that  with  his 


234  A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE. 

old  friend  he  would  settle  that  matter  so  that  there 
should  be  no  broken  bones  ?  For  did  he  not  know 
already  that  for  these  five  years  past  it  has  been  the 
wish  of  Gottlieb's  heart  to  leave  this  old  bakery — 
where  his  lease  ends  this  very  coming  May — and  to 
have  just  such  a  new  fine  bakery  upon  the  Square  as 
now  you  two  together  will  have  ?  Ah,  this  bad  old 
miser  man  is  not  afraid  but  that  his  miser  money 
will  come  back  to  him  again ;  and  he  is  not  such  a 
fool  but  that  he  had  faith  in  his  good  friend  Gott 
lieb,  and  knew  that  all  would  end  well.  And  now, 
truly,  all  will  be  happiness  :  for  Gottlieb,  who  has 
gained  a  good  son,  can  spare  to  me  this  dear  Hed- 
wig,  his  sister,  and  he  will  come  to  church  with  us 
and  see  us  all  married  in  one  bright  day." 

Aunt  Iledwig  looked  up  into  Hen*  Sohnstein's  face 
as  he  ended  this  long  speech — not  so  fine,  perhaps, 
as  some  of  the  speeches  which  he  had  delivered  in 
the  criminal  courts,  but  much  more  moving  and  a 
great  deal  more  geniune  than  the  very  best  of  them 
— and,  with  her  eyes  filling  with  happy  tears,  said 
to  him :  "  And  it  is  to  thee  that  we  owe  it,  this 
happiness !" 

But  Ilerr  Sohnstein's  face  grew  grave  and  his 
voice  grew  reverent  as  he  answered  :  "  It  is  not  so, 
my  Hedwig.  We  owe  our  happiness  to  the  good 
God  who  has  taken  away  the  evil  that  was  in  our 
dear  Gottlieb's  heart."  They  all  were  very  quiet  for 
a  little  space,  and  upon  the  silence  broke  the  sweet 
sound  of  the  clock  bell  in  the  near-by  church -tower. 

When  the  last  stroke  had  sounded  Herr  Sohnstein 


A    ROMANCE    OF   TOMPKINS    SQUARE.  235 

spoke  again,  and  in  his  customary  jolly  tone  :  "As 
for  these  young  ones  here,  we  will  unlock  the  door 
and  let  them  walk  out  and  look  for  a  little  at  the 
music-stand  that  they  love  so  well  in  the  Square. 
And  lied  wig  shall  sit  beside  me  while  we  smoke  our 
pipes,  Gottlieb,  eh  ?  It  is  a  long  time  already,  old 
friend,  since  thou  and  I  have  sat  together  and  smoked 
our  pipes." 


AN  IDYL  OF  THE   EAST  SIDE. 


IN  the  matter  of  raising  canary  -  birds  —  at  once 
strong  of  body  and  of  note,  tamed  to  associate  with 
humanity  on  rarely  friendly  terms,  and  taught  to 
sing  with  a  sweetness  nothing  short  of  heavenly — 
Andreas  Stoffel  was  second  to  none.  And  this  was 
not  by  any  means  surprising,  for  he  had  been  born 
(and  for  its  saintly  patron  had  been  christened)  close 
by  the  small  old  town  of  Andreasberg :  which  stands 
barely  within  the  verge  of  the  Black  Forest,  on  the 
southern  declivity  of  the  Harz — and  which,  while  fa 
mous  for  its  mines,  is  renowned  above  all  other  cities 
for  the  excellence  of  the  bird  songsters  which  there 
and  thereabouts  are  raised. 

Canary-birds  had  been  the  close  companions  of 
this  good  Andreas  through  all  the  fifty  years  of  his 
lifetime.  They  had  sung  their  sweet  song  of  rejoic 
ing  at  his  birth — when  the  storks  had  brought  him 
one  day,  while  his  father  was  far  underground  at 
work  in  the  mines,  and  was  vastly  well  pleased,  when 
he  came  home  all  grimy  at  night,  to  find  what  a 
^brave  boy  God  had  sent  him  by  these  winged  mes 
sengers.  They  had  sung  over  his  cradle  as  his 
mother,  knitting,  rocked  it  in  the  midst  of  the  long 
patch  of  sunlight  that  came  through  the  low,  wide 
window  of  the  bauernhaus — the  comfortable  home 


240  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

with  high -peaked  roof,  partly  thatched  and  partly 
shingled,  and  with  great  drooping  eaves,  that  was 
nooked  snugly  on  the  warm  southern  slope  of  the 
Andreasberg  beside  a  little  stream.  They  had  sung 
him  awake  many  and  many  a  bright  summer  morn 
ing  ;  and  one  of  his  tenderest  memories  of  the  time 
when  he  was  a  very  little  boy — and  was  put  to  bed, 
as  little  boys  should  be,  at  sundown — was  of  their 
faint,  irregular,  sleepy-headed  chirpings  and  twitter 
ings  as  they  settled  themselves  to  slumber  on  their 
perches  for  the  night. 

And  when  the  time  came  that  Andreas,  grown  to 
man's  estate,  being  one -and -twenty  years  old,  but 
not  to  man's  strength,  for  he  was  small  of  stature 
and  frail,  was  left  lonely  in  the  world  —  the  good 
father  killed  by  a  rock-fall  in  the  mines,  and  the  dear 
mother  thereafter  pining  away  from  earth,  and  so  to 
the  heaven  that  gave  her  husband  back  to  her  —  it 
was  his  house-mates  the  birds  who  did  their  best  to 
cheer  him  with  their  songs.  And  presently,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  these  songs  began  to  tell  of  new  hap 
piness  in  a  new  home  far  away  across  the  mountains 
and  beyond  the  sea — in  that  distant  America  where 
already  his  father's  brother  dwelt,  and  whereof  he 
had  heard  wonderful  stories  of  splendors  and  of  rich 
es  incalculable  all  his  life  long.  Indeed,  the  advent 
urous  uncle  had  prospered  amazingly  in  the  twenty 
years  of  his  American  exile :  rising,  in  due  course, 
from  the  position  of  a  young  man  of  most  promis 
cuous  all  work  in  a  delicatessen  shop  in  New  York 
to  the  position  of  owner  of  the  business,  shop  and  all. 


AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  243 

To  go  to  a  land  where  such  things  as  this  were  pos 
sible  seemed  to  Andreas  most  wise ;  and  to  be  near 
his  uncle,  and  the  aunt  and  cousins  whom  he  had 
never  seen,  his  sole  remaining  kin,  held  out  to  him  a 
pleasant  promise  of  cheer  and  comfort  in  his  loneli 
ness. 

But,  in  very  truth,  the  sweet  burden  of  the  song 
of  his  birds  was  not  born  of  thoughts  of  mere  com 
monplace  family  affection  and  commonplace  worldly 
wealth.  Far  more  precious  than  these  was  the  mo 
tive  of  the  music  that  Andreas  listened  to  and  un 
derstood,  and  yet  scarcely  would  acknowledge,  even 
to  himself  ;  for  in  America  it  was  that  Christine  now 
had  her  home — and  that  which  set  his  heartstrings 
a -thrilling,  as  he  listened  to  the  song  of  his  birds, 
was  the  deep,  pure  melody  of  love. 

They  had  been  children  together,  he  and  Christine, 
their  homes  side  by  side  on  the  flanks  of  the  An- 
dreasberg ;  and  when,  three  years  before,  she  had 
gone  with  her  father  and  her  mother  on  the  long 
journey  westward,  the  heart  of  Andreas  Stoffel  had 
gone  with  her,  and  only  his  body  was  left  behind 
among  the  mountains  of  the  Ilarz.  And  Christine 
had  dulled  to  him  a  little  the  keen  edge  of  the  sor 
row  of  their  parting  by  admitting  that  she  left  her 
own  heart  in  the  place  of  the  heart  that  she  bore 
away. 

More  than  once  had  the  rich  uncle,  owner  of  the 
delicatessen  shop  in  New  York,  written  to  urge  that 
his  nephew  —  whose  frailty  of  body  made  him  unfit 
to  enter  upon  the  hard  life  of  a  worker  in  the  mines 


244  AN    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

— should  come  to  America ;  and  with  his  large  knowl 
edge  of  affairs  the  uncle  had  explained  that  the  best 
bill  of  exchange  in  which  money  could  be  carried 
from  Andreasberg  to  New  York  was  canary- birds, 
that  could  be  bought  for  comparatively  little  in  the 
German  town,  and  that  would  be  worth  in  the  Amer 
ican  city  a  very  great  sum.  And  now  on  this  shrewd 
advice  Andreas  acted.  The  dear  old  bauernhaus  was 
sold,  and  its  furnishing  with  it;  and  all  the  money 
thus  gained,  together  with  the-  greater  sum  that,  lit 
tle  by  little,  his  father  had  added  to  the  store  in  the 
old  leather  bag  (saving  only  what  the  journey  would 
cost)  was  spent  in  buying  the  finest  canary-birds 
which  money  could  buy;  so  that  for  a  long  while 
after  that  time  Andreasberg  was  desolate,  for  all  of 
its  sweetest  singers  were  gone. 

Thus  it  fell  out  that  even  in  the  time  of  his  long 
journey  his  birds  still  sang  to  him ;  and  his  fellow- 
travellers  by  land  and  sea  regarded  curiously  this 
slim,  pale  youth,  who  shyly  kept  apart  from  human 
converse  and  communed  with  his  companions  the 
birds.  And  so  lovingly  well  did  Andreas  care  for 
his  little  feathered  friends  that  not  one  died  through 
out  the  whole  long  passage ;  and  as  the  ship  came 
up  the  beautiful  bay  of  New  York  on  a  sunny  May 
morning,  while  Andreas  stood  on  the  deck  with  his 
cages  about  him,  very  blithely  and  sweetly  did  the 
birds  sing  their  hopeful  song  of  greeting  to  the 
New  World. 

But  it  was  a  false  song  of  hope,  after  all.  Hearts 
were  fickle  thirty  years  ago,  even  as  hearts  are  fickle 


AN   IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  245 

to-day  ;  and  the  first  news  that  Andreas  heard  when 
he  was  come  to  his  uncle's  home  (a  very  fine  home, 
over  a  very  fine  shop,  indeed)  was  that  Christine  had 
been  a  twelvemonth  married — in  very  complete  for- 
getfulness  of  all  her  fine  words  about  the  heart  left 
behind  her,  and  of  all  her  fine  promises  that  she 
would  be  true ! 

That  there  be  such  things  as  broken  hearts  is  an 
open  question.  Yet  when  this  news  came  suddenly 
to  Andreas  a  keen  agony  of  pain  went  through  his 
heart  as  though  it  were  really  breaking  •  and  wTith 
his  hands  pressed  tightly  against  his  breast,  and  with 
a  face  as  pale  as  death  itself,  he  fell  to  the  floor. 
He  would  have  died  then  very  willingly ;  and  it  wras 
very  unwilling!}' — the  fierce  pain  leaving  him  as  sud 
denly  as  it  had  come  —  that  he  returned  to  life. 
Whatever  may  be  said  for  or  against  the  probabil 
ity  of  broken  hearts,  there  can  be  no  question  as 
to  the  verity  of  broken  lives.  That  day,  assuredly, 
the  life  of  Andreas  Stoffel  was  broken,  and  it  never 
wholly  mended  again.  For  a  while  even  the  song 
of  his  birds  lost  all  its  sweetness,  and  seemed  to  him 
but  a  discordant  sound. 

Yet  even  a  broken  life,  until  it  be  snuffed  out  en 
tirely,  must  battle  in  the  world  for  standing  -  room. 
Luckily  for  Andreas,  there  was  no  need  for  him  to 
question  how  his  own  particular  battle  should  be 
made.  The  shape  in  which  his  little  store  of  world 
ly  wealth  was  cast  obviously  determined  the  lines 
on  which  he  should  seek  maintenance.  It  was  plain 
that  by  the  rearing  and  the  selling  of  canary-birds  he 


246  AX    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

must  gain  support  until  the  time  should  come  (and 
he  hoped  that  it  would  come  soon)  when  he  might 
find  release  from  this  earth,  where  love  so  soon  grows 
false  and  cold. 

The  rich  uncle,  who  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  gave 
his  help  in  the  matter  of  finding  a  shop  wherein  the 
canary-bird  business  might  be  advantageously  car 
ried  on,  and  gave  also  the  benefit  of  his  commercial 
wisdom  and  knowledge  of  American  ways.  And  so, 
with  no  great  difficulty,  Andreas  was  soon  estab 
lished  in  a  snug  little  place  of  his  own  on  the  East 
Side ;  where  the  friendly  German  speech  sounded 
almost  constantly  in  his  ears,  and  where  the  friend 
ly  German  customs  obtained  almost  as  completely  as 
in  his  own  dear  German  home.  But,  after  all,  the 
change  was  a  dismal  one.  As  his  unaccustomed  nose 
was  assailed  by  the  rank  oil-vapors  blown  across 
from  Hunter's  Point  he  longed  regretfully  for  the 
fresh,  aromatic  air  that  the  south  winds  swept  up 
and  over  his  old  home  from  the  pines  of  the  Schwarz- 
wald;  and  the  contrast  was  a  sorry  one  between  a 
home  on  the  slopes  of  the  Harz  Mountains  and  a 
home  in  Avenue  B. 

Yet  had  these  been  his  only  sorrows,  and  had  he 
borne  them — as  he  had  hoped  to  bear  them  —  with 
Christine,  his  lot  would  have  been  anything  but  hard. 
It  was  the  deep  heart -wound  that  he  had  suffered 
that  made  his  life  for  many  a  year  a  very  dreary 
one  ;  too  dreary  for  him  to  find  much  pleasure  even 
in  the  singing  of  his  birds.  Now  and  again  he  met 
Christine.  At  their  first  meeting — in  his  uncle's  fine 


AN    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  247 

parlor  over  the  fine  delicatessen  shop,  one  Sunday 
afternoon — she  was,  as  she  well  might  be,  confused 
in  her  speech  and  very  shamefaced  in  her  ways. 
Her  husband  was  with  her,  quite  a  prosperous  per 
son,  so  Andreas  was  told,  who  had  built  up  a  great 
business  in  the  pork  and  sausage  line.  He  was  a 
loud-voiced,  merry  man ;  and  he  aired  his  wit  freely, 
though  evidently  with  no  intent  to  be  unkind,  upon 
the  lover  out  of  whose  lucklessness  his  own  luck 
had  come.  Even  as  pretty  a  girl  as  Christine  could 
not  have  more  than  one  husband  at  a  time,  said  this 
big  Conrad,  with  great  good -humor;  and  so,  since 
they  could  not  both  marry  her,  Andreas  would  do 
well  to  stop  crying  over  spilled  milk.  They  all  would 
be  very  good  friends,  he  added,  and  Andreas  would 
be  godfather  to  the  first  child.  He  put  out  his  big 
hand  as  he  made  this  proffer  of  friendship ;  and  al 
though  Andreas  could  not  refuse  to  clasp  it,  there 
was  not,  in  truth,  any  great  store  of  friendliness  for 
Christine's  loud-voiced  husband  in  his  heart.  So  soon 
as  this  was  possible,  he  was  glad  to  get  away  from 
the  merry  Sunday  afternoon  gathering  in  his  uncle's 
fine  parlor  to  the  more  sympathetic  society  of  his 
birds.  Yet  there  did  not  seem  to  him  much  music 
in  the  singing  of  his  birds  that  day. 

Christine  was  vastly  proud  of  her  big,  rosy-faced, 
noisy  husband,  whose  sausage -making  greatly  pros 
pered,  and  to  whom  the  American  dollars  rolled  in 
bravely.  But  even  in  these  days  of  her  good- luck 
she  sometimes  found  herself  thinking — when  Con 
rad's  rough  love-making  was  still  further  rough- 
is 


248  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE. 

ened,  and  his  noisiness  greatly  increased,  by  too  free 
draughts  of  heady  German  beer  —  of  the  gentler 
ways  and  constant  tenderness  of  her  earlier  lover, 
whose  love,  with  her  own  promise  to  be  true  to  it, 
she  had  so  lightly  cast  aside.  Thoughts  of  this  sort, 
it  is  true,  did  not  often  trouble  her,  but  now  and 
then  they  gave  her  a  little  heart-pang ;  and  the  pang 
would  be  intensified,  sometimes,  as  the  thought  also 
would  come  to  her  that  perhaps  it  was  because  she 
had  broken  her  plighted  troth  that  her  many  pray 
ers  to  become  a  mother  remained  unanswered. 

As  time  went  on,  Christine's  sorrows  came  to  be 
of  a  more  instant  sort.  Her  too  jolly  husband's  fond 
ness  for  heady  beer  grew  upon  him,  and  with  its  in 
crease  came  a  decrease  in  the  success  that  until  then 
had  been  attendent  upon  his  sausage -making.  His 
business  fell  away  from  him  by  degrees  into  soberer 
and  steadier  hands,  which  had  the  effect  of  making 
him  take  to  stronger  drinks  than  beer  in  order  that 
he  might  the  more  effectually  forget  his  troubles. 
He  lost  his  merriness,  and  somewhat  of  his  loudness, 
and  became  sullen  ;  and  the  wolf  always  was  shrewd 
ly  near  the  door.  Thus,  in  a  very  bad  way  indeed, 
things  went  on  for  half  a  dozen  years ;  then  the  big 
Conrad,  what  with  drink  and  worry,  fell  ill — so  ill, 
that  for  a  long  while  he  lay  close  to  the  open  jaws 
of  Death. 

No  one  ever  knew  —  though  several  people  quite 
accurately  guessed — why  the  wolf  did  not  fairly  get 
into  the  house  during  that  dismal  time.  It  is  cer 
tain  that  when  Conrad  arose  from  his  bed  at  last,  a 


AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  249 

thin  remnant  of  his  former  bigness,  there  were  few 
high-priced  birds  left  in  Andreas  Stoffel's  little  shop, 
where  there  had  been  a  score  or  more  when  his  sick 
ness  began.  And,  possibly,  it  was  something  more 
than  a  mere  coincidence  that  nearly  all  of  the  few 
which  remained  were  sold  about  the  time  that  Con 
rad  started  again,  in  a  very  humble  way,  his  busi 
ness  of  sausage-making. 

But  if  Andreas  did  thus  sacrifice  his  birds  for 
Christine's  good,  he  did  not  grudge  the  sacrifice  ;  for 
upon  the  big  Conrad  poverty  and  sickness  had  exer 
cised  a  chastening  and  most  wholesome  influence. 
He  got  up  out  of  his  bed  a  changed  man ;  and  the 
change,  morally  at  least,  was  greatly  for  the  better. 
Physically  the  result  was  less  salutary  ;  indeed,  he 
never  quite  recovered  from  his  sharp  attack ;  and 
three  or  four  years  later,  just  as  his  business  was 
getting  into  good  shape  again,  he  sickened  suddenly, 
and' then  promptly  paid  to  nature  the  debt  that  all 
men  owe,  and  that  his  partial  return  to  health  had 
but  a  little  time  delayed. 

But  Christine  was  not  left  desolate  in  the  world, 
for  in  the  last  year  of  her  husband's  life  the  strong 
yearning  that  so  possessed  her  had  been  satisfied, 
and  she  was  the  mother  of  a  baby  girl.  Andreas, 
claiming  the  fulfilment  of  the  promise  made  so  long 
before,  had  stood  godfather  to  the  little  Rosa — for 
so,  because  of  her  fresh  rosiness,  was  she  named;  and 
there  was  a  strange,  sorrowful  longing  in  his  heart 
when,  the  rite  being  ended,  he  came  again  to  his 
lonely  home  and  sat  him  down  to  be  comforted  by 


250  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

the  singing  of  his  birds  :  for  while  the  children  of 
Alice  call  Bartram  father,  there  must  be  ever  a 
weary  weight  of  sadness  in  the  world. 

Life  had  not  given  so  much  of  happiness  to  Chris 
tine — though,  possibly,  her  happiness  was  equal  to 
her  deserts — that  her  hold  upon  life  was  a  very  firm 
one  ;  arid  although  she  tried,  for  the  little  Roschen's 
sake,  to  put  fresh  strength  into  her  grasp,  the  press 
ure  of  poverty  and  care  and  sorrow  all  combined  to 
make  her  loosen  it.  Gently,  a  little  at  a  time,  her 
hold  gave  wray.  She  knew  what  was  coming,  and  so 
did  Andreas.  Once  or  twice  they  spoke  about  it; 
and  spoke  also  of  the  old  days  on  the  Andreasberg, 
when  began  the  love  that  in  one  of  their  hearts  at 
least  never  had  grown  cold.  And  for  this  old  love's 
sake  Andreas  promised  that  wrhen  she  was  gone  the 
little  Roschen  should  find  a  home  with  him  and  with 
his  birds.  It  was  not  a  great  while  after  this  prom 
ise  was  made  that  the  end  came. 

Some  of  the  women  laughed  a  little,  and  cried  a 
little  too,  when,  after  the  funeral,  old  Andreas — for 
so  already  had  they  begun  to  call  him,  because  of 
his  silent  habit  and  quaint,  old  -  fashioned  ways — 
asked  to  be  shown  how  a  baby  should  be  carried ; 
and,  being  in  this  matter  properly  instructed,  bore 
away  with  careful  tenderness  in  his  arms  the  little 
Roschen  to  her  new  home.  And  when  he  was 
come  home  with  her,  the  birds,  as  though  in  wel 
come — which  seemed  the  more  real  because  cer 
tain  of  the  tamer  ones  among  them  came  forth 
from  their  open  cages  and  perched  upon  his  arm — 


"And  when  he  -was  come  home  with  her,  (he  Link   broke  forth  to 
gether   into  a  chorus  of  xweetest  so»y." 


AX    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE.  253 

broke   forth    together   into    a    chorus    of    sweetest 
song. 

The  good-wives  living  thereabouts  were  someAvhat 
shocked  at  the  thought  of  risking  a  baby's  life  in 
the  care  of  a  man  who  was  qualified  only  to  minister 
intelligently  to  the  needs  of  baby  canary-birds ;  yet 
were  they  not  a  little  touched  when  they  came — in 
unnecessary  numbers,  as  Andreas  thought — to  give 
him  the  benefit  of  their  superior  wisdom  in  the  prem 
ises  by  finding  how  well,  in  a  queer,  awkward  way, 
he  was  discharging  the  duties  of  his  office  ;  and  such 
gentleness  in  a  man  they  all  vowed  that  they  had 
never  seen.  Yet  it  was  not  surprising  that  his  quaint 
effort  was  crowned  with  so  signal  a  success ;  as  the 
birds  could  have  explained,  had  their  song -notes 
been  rendered  into  human  speech,  Andreas  had 
served  an  apprenticeship  in  caring  for  them  which 
well  fitted  him  to  care  with  a  mother's  tenderness 
for  this  little  girl,  who,  such  was  his  love  for  her, 
seemed  to  him  in  all  verity  to  be  his  own  proper 
child.  Benefiting  by  the  advice  which  so  lavishly 
was  bestowed  upon  him,  he  presently  became— as 
even  the  most  critical  of  the  women  were  forced  to 
admit — a  much  better  mother  to  the  little  Roschen 
than  many  a  real  mother  might  have  been.  It 
was,  indeed,  a  sight  worth  travelling  far  to  see, 
this  of  Andreas  washing  and  dressing  the  baby 
in  the  sunny  room  at  the  back  of  the  shop  where 
hung  the  cages  in  which  were  the  choicest  of  his 
birds.  Roschen's  first  conscious  memory  was  of 
laughing  and  splashing  in  her  little  tub  in  the 


254  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

sunshine,  while  all  around  her  was  a  carolling  of 
song. 

In  the  course  of  the  years  which  had  drifted  by 
since  Andreas  came  with  his  birds  to  New  York 
that  May  morning  he  had  not  made  for  himself 
many  friends.  To  be  a  friend  of  birds  a  man  must 
have  a  quiet  habit  of  bod}7,  and  great  gentleness  of 
nature,  and  a  true  tenderness  of  heart ;  which  qual 
ities  tend  also  to  solitariness,  being  for  the  most  part 
harmed  rather  than  fostered  by  association  with 
mankind.  As  suited  him  well,  his  business  wras  not 
one  that  called  him  much  abroad,  nor  that  brought 
him  greatly  into  contact  with  his  fellows.  In  his 
good  care  the  famous  stock  of  songsters  which  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  the  fatherland  had  in 
creased  prodigiously;  and  even  the  sale  of  nearly  all 
his  best  old  birds,  about  the  time  that  Conrad  was 
ill,  had  worked,  in  the  long  run,  to  his  benefit ;  for 
he  had  taken  these  birds  to  one  and  another  of  the 
great  dealers,  who  thus  came  to  know  that  in  the  lit 
tle  shop  on  Avenue  B  were  to  be  found  canaries  the 
like  of  which  for  tameness  and  for  rare  beauty  of 
note  could  not  be  bought  elsewhere  in  all  New  York. 
Thereafter,  as  his  young  birds  grew  up,  learning  from 
Andreas  himself  the  lesson  of  gentleness,  and  from 
his  teaching-birds  the  lesson  of  sweetness  of  note,  he 
had  no  lack  of  high-paying  customers  ;  so  that  from 
his  business  he  derived  an  income  far  in  excess  of 
his  modest  needs.  What  went  with  the  overplus 
was  known  only  to  certain  of  his  country-folk,  whose 
ill  venture  after  greater  fortune  in  America  had 


AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  255 

proved  to  be  but  a  fiercer  struggle  with  still  greater 
poverty  than  they  had  struggled  with  at  home  ;  and 
no  doubt  the  angels  also  kept  track  of  his  modest 
benefactions,  for  such  is  reputed  to  be  their  way. 

Many  a  wounded  life  was  healed  by  these  hidden 
ministrations  on  the  part  of  Andreas ;  and,  as  right 
ly  followed,  great  love  there  was  for  him  in  many  a 
humble  heart.  But  love  of  this  sort  is  not  friend 
ship,  for  friendship  requires  some  one  plane  at  least 
of  equality,  and  also  association  and  converse,  which 
conditions  were  lacking  in  the  case  of  Andreas  and 
those  to  whom  he  gave  his  aid ;  for  the  shyness  of 
his  nature  led  him  to  keep  himself  apart — save  when 
the  demand  upon  his  charity  was  for  that  comfort 
and  sympathy  which  can  only  be  given  in  person — 
from  those  whose  burdens  he  lightened  ;  so  that, 
for  the  most  part,  while  the  needed  help  was  given 
the  hand  that  gave  it  remained  concealed. 

Yet  with  a  few  of  his  country-folk  in  New  York 
Andreas  had  established,  in  course  of  time,  relations 
of  warm  friendliness.  Of  his  kin  only  two  cousins 
were  left ;  for  the  rich,  good  uncle,  from  overmuch 
eating  of  his  own  delicatessen,  had  come  to  a  bilious 
ending ;  and  his  uncle's  widow,  wise  in  her  genera 
tion,  had  returned  to  her  native  town  in  Saxony, 
where  she  was  enabled,  by  reason  of  the  fortune 
that  the  delicatessen  -  shop  had  brought  to  her,  to 
outshine  the  local  baroness,  and  presently  to  attain 
the  summit  of  her  highest  hopes  and  happiness  by 
wedding  an  impoverished  local  baron,  and  so  be 
coming  a  baroness  herself.  Her  two  sons  were  well 


256  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE. 

pleased  with  this  marriage.  They  were  carrying  on 
a  great  business  in  hog  products,  and  had  purchased 
for  themselves  fine  estates  in  the  country  and  fine 
houses  in  town.  To  be  able  to  speak  of  their  moth 
er  as  "  the  baroness  "  suited  them  very  well.  An 
dreas  saw  but  little  of  these  gilded  relatives — who 
yet  were  good -hearted  men,  and  very  kindly  dis 
posed  towards  him — for  their  magnificent  surround 
ings  were  appalling  to  his  simple  mind.  His  few 
friends  were  more  nearly  in  his  own  walk  in  life, 
and  his  friendship  with  them  had  been  built  up,  as 
substantial  friendship  should  be,  by  slow  degrees. 

At  the  Cafe  Niirnberger,  near  by  his  own  little 
shop — a  bakery  celebrated  for  the  excellence  of  its 
bread,  and  for  the  great  variety  of  its  toothsome 
German  cakes — it  was  his  custom  to  make  daily  pur 
chases.  With  the  plump,  rosy  Aunt  Iledwig,  who 
presided  over  the  bakery,  he  passed  the  good  word 
of  the  day  shyly ;  he  responded  shyly  to  the  friend 
ly  nod  of  the  baker,  Gottlieb  Brekel,  when  that  wor 
thy  chanced  to  be  in  the  shop ;  and  he  shyly  greeted 
a  certain  jolly  Herr  Sohnstein,  a  German  lawyer  of 
distinction,  who  was  about  the  bakery  a  great  deal 
and  who  popularly  was  believed  to  be  a  suitor  for 
the  plump  Hedwig's  plump  hand.  And  these  shy 
greetings  might  have  gone  on  day  after  day  for  all 
eternity — or  at  least  for  so  much  of  it  as  these  sev 
eral  persons  were  entitled  to  live  out  on  earth — with 
out  increasing  one  particle  in  cordiality,  had  there 
not  been  one  other  dweller  in  the  bakery  to  'act  as  a 
solvent  upon  the  bird-dealer's  reserve.  This  was 


AN    IDYL    OP    THE    EAST   SIDE.  257 

the  baker's  daughter  Minna,  a  child  a  year  or  two 
older  than  Roschen  and  cast  in  a  sturdier  mould. 

There  was  that  about  Andreas  which  drew  all 
children  to  him,  even  as  his  birds  were  drawn  to  him; 
and  a  part  of  the  spell  certainly  was  the  love  for 
children  that  always  was  in  his  heart.  The  small 
Minna  was  disposed  not  a  little  to  caprice — for  she 
was  a  motherless  child,  and  Aunt  Iledwig  humored 
her  waywardness  a  trifle  more  than  was  good  for 
her — and  she  manifested,  usually,  a  certain  haughti 
ness  towards  those  who  sought  to  make  friends  with 
her.  Yet  of  her  own  accord  one  day,  when  Andreas 
had  ceased  to  be  a  stranger  to  her,  she  went  up  to 
him  and  offered  him  a  kiss.  Aunt  Hedwig  volubly 
explained  to  Andreas  the  honor  that  had  been  done 
him,  and  from  that  moment  was  disposed  herself  to 
be  most  friendly  with  him — as  was  also  the  baker, 
and  as  was  also  Herr  Sohnstein,  when  the  story  of 
this  extraordinary  performance  duly  was  related  to 
them.  And  thus  there  began  a  real  friendship  be 
tween  Andreas  and  these  kindly  souls  that  ever  grew 
riper  as  the  years  went  on.  Sometimes  of  an  even 
ing,  when  his  birds  were  all  asleep  and  he  was  left 
lonely,  Andreas  would  step  around  to  the  bakery ; 
and  would  sit  for  an  hour  or  so  in  the  little  room 
back  of  the  shop,  listening  pleasantly  to  the  talk  of 
Gottlieb  and  Herr  Sohnstein,  as  they  smoked  their 
long  pipes,  and  even  laughing  in  a  quiet  way  at  the 
merry  sallies  thrown  into  the  conversation  by  Aunt 
Iledwig  as  she  sat  knitting  beside  the  fire.  Andreas 
himself  rarely  spoke — it  was  not  his  way ;  but  there 


258  AX   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

was  such  a  sympathetic  quality  in  his  silence  that 
his  lack  of  words  passed  almost  unobserved.  Much 
more  attention  was  attracted  by  the  fact  that  he  did 
not  smoke — a  fact  that  was  looked  upon  as  most  ex 
traordinary.  But  this  also  went  unheeded  after  a 
while,  as  it  well  might  in  a  small  room  wherein 
Gottlieb  and  Herr  Sohnstein  were  smoking  with 
such  vigor  that  the  air  was  a  deep,  heavy  blue.  It 
was  because  his  birds  did  not  like  smoke  that  he 
had  given  up  his  pipe,  he  explained,  simply  ;  and 
only  to  Minna  did  it  occur  to  say,  after  she  had 
turned  the  matter  over  in  her  small  mind  for  a 
while,  that  the  Herr  Stoffel  must  be  a  very  kind- 
hearted  man  to  go  without  smoking  because  the 
smell  of  tobacco-smoke  wasn't  nice  for  his  birds. 

When  Andreas  took  the  little  Koschen  to  his  home, 
that  sad  day  after  the  funeral,  the  good  Hedwig  was 
among  the  first  of  the  womenkind  to  go  to  him  with 
tenders  of  instruction  and  advice;  for  while  Hedwig 
was  only,  as  it  were,  a  matron  by  brevet,  she  was 
deeply  impressed  by  the  extent  of  her  own  knowl 
edge  in  the  matter  of  how  motherless  children  should 
be  raised  ;  and  it  is  but  just  to  add  that  this  self- 
confidence  was  fully  warranted  by  the  good  results 
that  had  attended  upon  her  care  of  her  brother's 
child.  Something  of  the  story  of  Andreas  and  Chris 
tine,  and  something  of  what  he  had  done  for  her 
and  for  her  husband,  was  known  in  the  bakery;  and 
enough  more  was  guessed  to  make  these  friends  of 
his  feel  towards  him,  because  of  it  all,  a  still  strong 
er  and  more  earnest  friendship.  Herr  Sohnstein, 


AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  259 

who,  being  a  lawyer  with  an  extensive  practice  in 
the  criminal  courts,  was  not  by  any  means  in  the 
habit  of  praising  his  fellow -men  indiscriminately, 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  Andreas  was  "  better 
than  any  of  the  saints  already."  And  when  Aunt 
Hedwig,  somewhat  shocked  at  this  comparison  to 
the  disfavor  at  a  single  thrust  of  the  whole  body  of 
saints  put  together,  reproved  Herr  Sohn stein  for  his 
irreverence,  he  stoutly  declared  that  while  his  knowl 
edge  of  saints  was  comparatively  limited — since  they 
did  not  come  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  courts — 
he  certainly  never  had  read  of  one  who  had  shown  a 
finer  quality  of  charity,  both  in  forgiveness  and  in 
self-sacrifice,  than  that  which  Andreas  had  displayed. 

"  Don't  you  make  believe,  Hedwig,"  Herr  Sohn- 
stein  continued,  "  that  if  you  go  off  after  promising 
yourself  to  me  and  marry  another  fellow,  that  I'll 
take  care  of  him  when  he's  sick,  and  set  him  up  in 
business  when  he  gets  well,  and  wind  up  by  giving 
him  a  first-class  funeral ;  and  don't  you  get  it  into 
your  head  that  I'm  going  to  adopt  any  of  your  chil 
dren  that  are  not  mine  too — for  I'm  not  a  saint  al 
ready,  even  if  Andreas  is." 

To  which  general  declaration  Aunt  Hedwig  re 
plied,  with  much  spirit,  that  in  the  first  place  Herr 
Sohnstein  had  better  wait  until  she  promised  to 
marry  him — or  to  marry  anybody,  for  that  matter — 
before  he  took  to  preaching  to  her;  that  in  the  sec 
ond  place  it  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  declare  that 
he  was  not  a  saint,  since  only  a  deaf  blind  man  would 
be  likely  to  take  him  for  one ;  and  that  in  the  third 


260  AN   IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE. 

place  he  would  do  well  to  save  his  breath  to  cool  his 
broth  :  at  which  lively  sally  they  all  laughed  to 
gether  very  comfortably. 

With  these  good  friends  Andreas  consulted  in  all 
important  matters  relating  to  Roschen's  well-being. 
Aunt  Hedwig's  practical  advice  in  regard  to  cloth 
ing  and  food  and  general  care-taking  was  of  high 
value  in  the  early  years  ;  and  it  was  Gottlieb's  sug 
gestion,  when  the  time  came  for  beginning  the  sowing 
of  seeds  of  wisdom  in  her  small  mind,  that  Roschen 
should  go  with  his  own  Minna  to  the  school  where 
the  Sisters  taught ;  and  of  a  Sunday  the  children 
went  also  together  to  be  instructed  by  the  Redemp- 
torist  Fathers  in  the  way  of  godliness.  So  these  lit 
tle  ones  grew  in  years  and  in  knowledge  and  in  grace 
together,  and  towards  each  other  they  felt  a  sisterly 
love. 

Insensibly,  too,  as  Roschen  grew  out  of  childhood 
into  girlhood,  her  attitude  towards  her  adoptive  fa 
ther  changed.  In  the  great  matters  of  her  life  he 
still  cared  for  her,  planning  always  for  her  good, 
and  withholding  from  her  nothing  suited  to  her  sta 
tion  in  life  that  money  could  buy.  In  the  matter  of 
her  music,  Aunt  Hedwig  declared  that  he  was  posi 
tively  extravagant ;  yet  accepted  in  good  part  his 
excuse  that  a  voice  so  beautiful  deserved  to  be  well 
trained.  It  was  her  mother's  voice  alive  again,  he 
said ;  and  as  he  spoke,  Aunt  Hedwig  saw  that  there 
were  tears  in  his  eyes.  But  while  Andreas  still  con 
tinued  the  larger  of  his  parental  duties,  in  the  small 
er  matters  of  every-day  life  his  adopted  daughter 


AN   IDYL    OF    THE    EAST   SIDE.  263 

now  cared  for  him  ;  so  beginning  to  pay  the  debt 
(though  to  neither  of  them,  such  was  their  love  for 
each  other,  did  any  thought  of  debt  or  of  payment 
ever  occur)  that  she  owed  him  for  all  his  goodness 
to  her  and  to  her  dead  father  and  mother  in  the  past. 

In  truth,  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  Roschen  first 
beginning  to  play  at  keeping  house  for  her  father — 
for  so  she  always  called  him — and  then,  in  a  little 
while,  keeping  house  for  him  most  excellently  in  real 
earnest.  Here,  again,  the  good  qualities  of  Aunt 
Hedwig  came  to  the  front,  for  to  her  intelligent  di 
rection  was  due  the  rather  surprising  success  that 
attended  Roschen's  ambitious  attempt  to  become  so 
early  a  hausfrau.  Time  and  again  was  a  great  cu 
linary  disaster  averted  by  a  rapid  dash  on  Roschen's 
part  from  her  imperilled  home  to  the  bakery,  where 
Aunt  Hedwig' s  advice  was  quickly  obtained  and  then 
was  promptly  acted  upon.  And  if  sometimes  the  ad 
vice  came  too  late  to  avert  the  catastrophe — as  on 
that  memorable  and  dreadful  day  when  Roschen 
boiled  her  sausage-dumplings  without  tying  them  in 
a  bag — the  lessons  taught  by  calamitous  experience 
caused  only  passing  trouble,  and  tended,  in  the  long- 
run,  to  good. 

Indeed,  by  the  time  that  Roschen  was  sixteen  years 
old,  and  had  so  far  passed  through  her  apprentice 
ship  that  she  no  longer  was  compelled  to  make  sud 
den  and  frantic  appeals  to  Aunt  Hedwig  for  aid,  the 
little  household  over  which  she  presided  so  blithely 
was  very  admirably  managed  ;  and  it  certainly  was 
as  quaint  and  as  pretty  an  establishment  as  could  be 


264  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE. 

found  anywhere  upon  the  whole  round  globe.  Who 
ever  entered  the  little  shop  was  greeted  with  such  a 
thrilling  and  warbling  of  sweet  notes  that  all  the  air 
seemed  quivering  with  music,  and  the  leader  of  the 
bird  choir  was  a  certain  wonderful  songster  that  An 
dreas  had  named  the  Kronprinz,  and  for  which  he 
repeatedly  had  refused  quite  fabulous  sums.  An 
dreas  himself  had  bred  the  Kronprinz,  and  had  given 
him  the  education  that  now  made  him  such  a  won 
der  among  birds,  and  that  made  him  also  of  such 
great  value  as  an  instructor  of  the  young  birds  whose 
musical  education  was  still  to  be  gained.  After  his 
adopted  daughter,  Andreas  held  this  bird,  and  just 
ly,  to  be  the  most  precious  thing  that  he  owned. 

But  far  sweeter  than  the  singing  of  the  prized 
Kronprinz — at  least,  to  any  but  a  bird-fancier's  ears 
— was  the  singing  that  usually  was  to  be  heard  above 
the  trilling  of  the  canaries,  and  that  came  from  the 
room  at  the  back  of  the  shop  where  Roschen  was 
engaged  in  her  housewifely  duties.  It  was  such  mu 
sic  as  the  angels  made,  Andreas  declared,  yet  think 
ing  most  of  all  of  one  angel  voice,  the  memory  of 
which  while  still  on  earth  was  very  dear  to  him ; 
and  even  in  the  case  of  those  wlio  were  moved  by 
no  tender  association  of  the  sweet  tones  of  the  living 
and  the  dead  this  estimate  of  Roschen's  singing  did 
not  seem  unduly  high.  Gustav  Strauss,  the  son  of 
the  great  bird -dealer  over  in  the  rich  part  of  the 
town,  vowed  that  Andreas  was  entirely  right  in  his 
angelic  comparison  ;  and  Ludwig  Bauer,  the  young 
shoemaker,  who  lived  next  door  but  one,  went  even 


AN   IDYL  'OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  265 

farther,  and  said  that  Roschen's  voice  was  as  much 
sweeter  than  any  mere  angel's  voice  as  Roschen  her 
self  was  sweeter  and  better  than  all  the  angels  in 
Paradise  combined.  There  was  nothing  halting  nor 
half-way  in  Ludwig  Bauer's  opinion  in  this  matter, 
it  will  be  observed. 

The  little  room  wherein  Roschen  sang  so  sweetly 
while  at  her  work  was  their  kitchen  and  dining-room 
and  parlor  all  in  one.  As  noon-time  drew  near  there 
would  come  out  into  the  shop  from  this  room,  through 
the  open  door- way,  such  succulent  and  enticing  odors 
of  roasting  pork  and  stewing  onions  and  boiling  cab 
bages,  that  even  Bielfrak — as  the  Spitz  dog,  who  was 
chained  as  a  guard  close  beneath  the  cage  of  the 
Kronprinz,  appropriately  was  named — would  fall  to 
licking  his  chops  as  he  hungrily  sniffed  these  smells 
delectable ;  and  Andreas  suddenly  would  discover 
how  hungry  he  was,  and  would  make  occasion  to  go 
to  the  door-way  that  he  might  see  if  the  setting  of 
the  table  was  begun. 

"  Patience,  father  !  Presently  !  You  are  as  bad  as 
Bielfrak  himself  !"  Roschen  would  say  ;  and  as  this 
attribution  of  gluttony  to  her  father  was  a  time-hon 
ored  joke  between  them,  they  always  would  laugh 
over  it  pleasantly.  And  then  Andreas  would  stand 
and  watch  his  little  hausfrau  with  a  far-away  look  in 
his  gentle  blue  eyes  as  she  bustled  about  her  work 
in  the  sunny  room,  her  pretty  dimpled  arms  bared 
to  above  the  elbow,  her  lovely  cheeks  (because  of 
much  stooping  over  the  fire)  brighter  even  than  the 
roses  after  which  she  had  been  named,  her  golden 


266  AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE. 

hair  done  up  in  a  trig,  tight  knot  (as  Aunt  Hedwig 
had  taught  her  was  the  proper  way  for  hair  to  be  ar 
ranged  while  cooking  was  going  on),  and  over  her 
tidy  print  gown  a  great  white  apron,  fashioned  in  an 
ancient  German  shape,  as  guard  against  the  splash- 
ings  and  spillings  which  even  the  most  careful  of 
cooks  cannot  always  control.  In  the  sunny  win 
dows,  opening  to  the  south,  flowers  were  growing ; 
the  Dutch  clock,  with  pendulous  weights  made  in 
the  similitude  of  pine-cones,  ticked  against  the  wall 
merrily;  Miidchen,  the  cat — who,  being  most  prolific 
of  kittens,  notoriously  belied  her  name — sat  bunched 
up  in  exceeding  comfort  on  a  space  expressly  left 
for  her  upon  the  sunny  window  -  ledge  among  the 
plants ;  steam  arose  in  light  clouds  from  the  various 
pots  upon  the  stove,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  little 
room  the  table  stood  ready  for  the  dinner  to  be 
served. 

It  was  a  very  cheerful,  home  -  like  picture  this ; 
and  yet  many  a  time,  as  Andreas  stood  in  the  door 
way  and  contemplated  it,  there  would  be  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  strange  feeling,  half  of  glad  thankful 
ness,  half  of  very  sorrowful  longing,  in  his  heart. 
She  was  so  like  her  dead  mother!  In  look,  in  speech, 
in  motions  of  the  body,  in  turns  of  the  head,  and  in 
gestures  of  the  hands  she  was  Christine  over  again. 
Sometimes  Andreas  would  forget  his  fifty  years  and 
all  the  sorrows  of  hope  destroyed  and  irrevocable 
death-parting  which  his  fifty  years  had  brought  him, 
and  would  fancy  for  a  moment  that  he  was  young 
again,  and  that  the  dearest  wish  of  his  life  was  here 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  267 

fulfilled.  And  then  she  would  call  him  "Father!" 
and  his  moment's  dream  of  happiness  would  die  cold 
ly  in  his  heart.  Yet  would  there  come  to  him  always 
an  after-  glow  of  solacing  warmth,  as  comforting 
thoughts  would  steal  in  upon  him  of  the  happiness 
not  a  dream — different  from  that  which  he  had  hoped 
for  in  his  youth,  but  most  sweet  and  real — that  God's 
goodness  had  given  him  in  these  his  later  years. 

Andreas  truly  was  old  Andreas  now.  As  men's 
lives  go,  his  age  was  not  great ;  but  sorrow  had  made 
him,  as  it  had  made  many  another  man,  far  older 
than  the  mere  number  of  years  which  he  had  lived. 
No  great  store  of  strength  had  been  his  at  the  begin 
ning,  and  the  heart-break  that  he  had  suffered  that 
day  of  his  landing  in  the  New  World,  when  faith 
and  love  and  hope  all  died  together  at  a  single  blow, 
was  less  a  sentimental  figure  than  a  physical  reality. 
A  like  pang,  yet  not  so  keen,  had  wrenched  him 
when  he  first  came  to  know  of  Christine's  sharp  trial 
of  poverty,  and  another  seized  him  in  the  night-time 
following  that  sad  day  when  she  passed  away  from 
earth.  And  now  of  late,  without  any  cause  at  all, 
these  pangs  had  come  again.  Andreas  was  glad  that 
they  had  come  always  when  he  was  alone ;  for  the 
pain  was  too  searching  to  be  wholly  hidden,  and  his 
strong  desire  was  that  Roschen  should  be  spared  all 
knowledge  of  his  suffering.  In  his  own  mind  he  per 
ceived  quite  clearly  what  before  long  must  come  to 
pass.  And  it  was  a  good  happening,  he  thought, 
that  in  Gottlieb  Brekel  and  Aunt  Hedwig,  and  the 
excellent  Herr  Sohnstein,  who,  being  a  lawyer,  could 

16 


268  AN    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

care  well  for  the  little  store  in  the  bank  and  for  the 
little  house  that  Andreas  now  owned,  Roschen  had 
such  stanch  and  worthy  friends.  The  only  signs  of 
these  thoughts  which  Roschen  perceived  was  that 
her  father  grew  much  keener  in  the  matter  of  selling 
his  birds  at  high  prices ;  and  that  she  was  some 
what  seriously  reproved  when,  in  her  housekeeping 
or  in  her  occasional  expeditions  to  the  fine  shops  in 
Grand  Street,  she  ventured  upon  any  small  extrav 
agance.  But  Roschen  would  laugh  when  thus  re 
proved,  and  would  declare  that  her  father,  who  long 
had  been  a  glutton,  was  become  a  miser  already  in 
his  old  age  ;  whereat  Andreas  also  would  laugh,  yet 
not  quite  so  heartily  as  Roschen  liked  to  hear  him 
laugh  when  she  cracked  her  little  jokes  upon  him, 
and  would  say  that  sometimes  a  miser  was  not 
thought  by  his  heirs  so  bad  a  fellow  when  they 
found  what  a  snug  little  fortune  he  had  left  behind 
him  all  safe  in  the  bank. 

It  was  because  of  these  thoughts,  which  he  kept 
hidden  from  her,  that  Andreas  began  to  take  a  much 
more  active  interest  in  what  Roschen  had  to  say 
from  time  to  time  about  certain  young  men  of  her  ac 
quaintance.  The  young  man  of  whom  she  spoke  most 
frequently,  and  with  a  frank  friendliness,  was  the 
handsome  young  assistant  baker  at  the  Cafe  Niirn- 
berger  ;  a  very  capable  young  fellow,  Hans  Kuhn 
by  name,  who  of  late  had  brought  that  excellent 
bakery  into  great  vogue  because  of  the  almost  mirac 
ulously  good  lebkuchen  which  he  baked  there.  But 
Andreas  was  not  at  all  alarmed  by  this  open  friend- 


AN    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  269 

ship ;  for  Hans  and  the  stout  Minna  Brekel  were  to 
be  married  presently,  and  Roschen's  feeling  obvious 
ly  was  no  more  than  hearty  good-will  towards  the 
lover  of  her  dear  sister-friend.  Fine  chatterings  she 
and  Minna  had,  as  Andreas  inferred  from  her  oc 
casional  brief  reports  of  them,  about  the  prodigious 
matrimonial  event  that  was  so  near  at  hand.  As 
Andreas  also  inferred,  these  chatterings  put  vari 
ous  notions  of  an  exciting  and  somewhat  disturbing 
sort  into  Roschen's  little  head.  If  one  young  girl 
might  get  married,  so  might  another,  no  doubt  she 
thought ;  and  it  is  conceivable  that  from  this  men 
tal  statement  of  a  rational  abstract  possibility  her 
thoughts  may  have  passed  on  to  consideration  of  the 
concrete  possibilities  involved  in  her  own  relations 
with  the  good-looking  Gustav  Strauss,  son  of  the 
rich  bird-dealer,  or  with  the  good  -  looking  young 
shoemaker,  Ludwig  Bauer,  who  lived  next  door  but 
one. 

It  is  certain  that  when  Roschen  had  arrived  at 
the  dignity  of  eighteen  years,  and  her  hitherto  slim 
figure  had  taken  on  quite  a  plump,  pleasing  woman 
ly  roundness,  the  business  visits  of  the  young  Herr 
Strauss  to  the  little  bird  shop  on  the  East  Side  be 
came,  as  it  struck  Andreas,  rather  curiously  frequent. 
And  about  this  time,  also,  their  neighbor  Ludwig  de 
veloped  a  very  extraordinary  interest  in  the  business 
of  raising  canary-birds.  It  was  a  business  that  he 
long  had  thought  of  engaging  in,  he  explained ;  and 
he  truly  did  exhibit  an  aptitude  in  comprehending 
and  in  practising  its  mysteries  that  greatly  exalted 


270  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE. 

him  in  the  little  bird-dealer's  esteem.  The  birds  all 
seemed  to  recognize  a  friend  in  him  ;  and  even  those 
which  were  but  partially  tamed,  and  were  gentle 
only  with  Andreas  himself,  would  perch  willingly 
upon  his  hand.  With  Andreas  it  long  had  been  a 
maxim  that  canary-birds  were  rare  judges  of  human 
character,  and  the  testimonial  thus  given  to  Lud- 
wig's  worth  counted  with  him  for  a  great  deal — as 
did  also  the  quite  converse  opinion  of  the  birds  in 
regard  to  the  young  Herr  Strauss:  from  whom,  not 
withstanding  his  training  in  the  care  of  their  kind, 
they  always  flew  away,  and  whose  mere  presence  in 
the  shop  sufficed  to  make  every  bird  ruffle  himself 
and  to  chirp  angrily  in  his  cage.  Yet  Herr  Strauss 
was  most  agreeable  in  his  manners,  and  was  a  very 
personable  young  man.  As  for  his  riches,  they 
spoke  for  themselves  in  his  fine  attire  and  in  his  fine 
gold  watch  and  chain ;  and  he  also  spoke  for  them, 
making  frequent  allusions  to  his  comfortable  present 
position  in  the  world  as  his  father's  partner,  and  to 
his  still  more  comfortable  prospective  position  as  his 
father's  sole  heir. 

Ludwig,  on  the  other  hand,  could  not  boast  of 
any  great  amount  of  gilding  upon,  as  Andreas  be 
lieved  it  to  be,  the  sterling  metal  of  which  he  was 
made.  But  he  was  by  no  means  what  would  be  con 
sidered  by  the  dwellers  on  the  East  Side  a  poor  man. 
He  was  a  steady  and  a  good  master-workman,  with 
three  or  four  apprentices  under  him  ;  and  all  day 
long  there  was  to  be  heard  in  his  shop  the  cheerful, 
business-like  sound  of  the  thumping  of  short  ham- 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  271 

mers  on  lap-stones,  together  with  the  loud  clicking 
of  the  sewing-machine  on  which  the  delicate  stitch 
ing  of  uppers  was  done.  In  the  window,  screened 
with  a  green  curtain  of  growing  vines — as  is  the 
pretty  custom  with  most  of  the  German  shoemakers 
on  the  East  Side — there  always  might  be  seen  a  pair 
or  two  of  well-made  stout  shoes  drying  in  the  sun 
shine  on  their  lasts  ;  and  with  these  a  half-dozen 
or  more  pairs  of  shoes  newly  soled  and  heeled  in  a 
substantial,  workmanlike  fashion  that  would  have 
done  credit  to  Hans  Sachs  himself.  Making  and 
mending  together,  it  was  a  very  good  business  that 
Ludwig  was  doing  ;  each  year  a  better  balance  was 
lodged  to  his  credit  in  the  savings-bank,  and  the 
great  golden  boot  that  hung  above  his  door-way  told 
no  more  than  the  truth  of  the  good  work  that  was 
don-e  and  of  the  good  money  that  was  well  earned 
within.  From  the  stand-point  of  public  opinion  on 
the  East  Side,  this  thriving  young  shoemaker  al 
ready  was  a  man  of  substance,  whose  still  more  sub 
stantial  future  was  assured. 

There  was  in  the  nature  of  Ludwig  much  the  same 
simplicity  and  gentleness  that  characterized  Andreas 
— which  common  qualities,  no  doubt,  had  much  to 
do  with  the  strong  friendship  that  there  was  be 
tween  them;  and  all  his  neighbors,  remembering 
how  good  a  son  he  had  been,  and  knowing  also  how 
deeply  he  still  sorrowed  for  the  dear  mother  lost  to 
him  in  death,  were  more  than  ready  to  vouch  for  the 
goodness  of  his  heart.  Indeed,  it  was  while  trying 
to  comfort  him  a  little  after  this  great  sorrow  fell 


272  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

upon  him  that  Roschen  first  felt  towards  him  some 
thing  more  than  the  passing  interest  that  every 
maiden  reasonably  feels  in  every  seemly  young  man. 
Her  disposition  towards  him,  to  be  sure,  even  when 
thus  stimulated  by  a  sympathetic  melancholy,  was 
only  that  of  friendliness  ;  but  it  evidently  was  a 
friendliness  so  cordial  and  so  sincere  that  it  made 
quite  a  tolerable  foundation  upon  which  Ludwig 
freely  built  fine  air-castles  of  hope.  For  his  disposi 
tion  towards  Roschen  was  altogether  that  of  a  lover 
— as  anybody  might  have  known  after  hearing  that 
decided  expression  of  his  opinion  to  the  effect  that 
all  the  angels  singing  together  could  not  make  music 
so  sweet  as  the  music  of  her  voice. 

In  due  time,  in  accordance  with  the  decorous  Ger 
man  custom,  both  of  these  young  men  made  formal 
application  to  Andreas  for  permission  to  be  ranked 
formally  as  Roschen's  suitors  ;  and,  as  it  chanced, 
they  both  preferred  their  requests  upon  the  same 
day.  The  young  Herr  Strauss  undeniably  had  some 
strong  points  to  make  in  his  own  favor  ;  and  he  made 
them,  to  do  him  justice,  without  any  hesitation  or 
false  modesty.  As  he  truly  said — speaking  with  an 
easy  assurance,  and  airily  fingering  his  gold  watch- 
chain  as  he  spoke — in  marrying  him  Roschen  would 
make  an  excellent  match.  In  rather  marked  contrast 
with  this  justifiable  yet  not  wholly  pleasing  assump 
tion  of  self-importance,  was  the  modest  tone  in  which 
Ludwig1  urged  his  suit  ;  yet  was  Andreas  not  un 
favorably  impressed  by  the  fact  that  he  dwelt  less 
upon  his  deserts  than  upon  his  desire  to  be  deserv- 


AN    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  273 

ing ;  and  that  in  connection  with  the  creditable  pre 
sentment  that  he  made  of  the  condition  of  his  world 
ly  affairs  he  did  not  insist,  as  the  Herr  Strauss  had 
insisted,  upon  a  minute  examination  of  Roschen's 
dowry.  As  bearing  indirectly  yet  forcibly  upon  a 
general  consideration  of  the  cases  of  these  young 
men,  the  statement  may  be  added  that  one  of  them 
had  made  for  his  proposed  father-in-law  several  ex 
cellent  pairs  of  shoes,  while  the  other  had  made  for 
— or,  rather,  against — him  only  a  series  of  uncom 
monly  sharp  bargains. 

To  neither  of  the  lovers  did  Andreas  give  an  im 
mediate  answer.  He  must  think  a  little,  he  said. 
The  self-esteem  of  the  Herr  Strauss  was  a  trifle  ruf 
fled  by  the  suggestion  that  in  such  a  case  waiting  of 
any  sort  was  necessary  ;  it  seemed  to  him  that  an  of 
fer  so  desirable  as  that  which  he  had  made  was  en 
titled  to  instant  acceptance.  But  Ludwig  noted  a 
certain  trembling  in  the  voice  that  bade  him  wait, 
and  was  not  so  completely  engrossed  with  his  own 
hopes  of  happiness  but  that  he  could  perceive  its 
cause  and  could  feel  sorrow  for  it.  All  these  years 
had  Andreas  cared  for  this  sweet  Roschen,  and  had 
cherished  her  as  his  dearest  treasure  ;  and  now,  when 
the  best  time  of  her  life  had  come,  he  was  asked  to 
give  her  up  to  a  love  that  rested  its  claim  for  recog 
nition  upon  nothing  more  substantial  than  promises 
of  care- taking  which  the  future  might  or  might 
not  make  good.  That  Andreas,  under  such  circum 
stances,  even  should  consider  his  request,  touched 
Ludwig's  good  heart  with  gratitude ;  and  the  love 


274  AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE. 

that  he  had  for  a  long  while  felt  towards  the  old 
man  led  him  now  to  put  an  arm  around  his  shoulder, 
as  a  son  might  have  done,  and  to  tell  him  that  the 
home  which  he  had  ready  for  Roschen  was  ready 
for  Roschen's  father  too.  And  Ludwig's  voice  also 
trembled  a  little.  Andreas  did  not  speak,  but  he 
put  his  thin  hand  into  the  big  brown  hand — much 
stained  with  the  dark  wax  which  shoemakers  use  and 
with  long  handling  of  leather  —  that  Ludwig  held 
out  to  him ;  and  when  they  had  stood  together  thus 
affectionately  for  a  little  time  they  parted,  silently. 

In  truth,  Andreas  was  more  deeply  moved  than 
even  Ludwig,  for  all  his  affectionate  sympathy,  had 
divined.  His  love  for  Roschen  was  a  double  love. 
With  the  love  of  a  father  he  had  watched  over  her 
these  many  years  ;  yet  even  stronger  had  come  to 
be  his  love  for  her  as  her  mother  born  again.  Some 
times,  for  whole  days  together,  confusing  the  past 
with  the  present,  he  would  call  her  Christine  ;  and 
in  his  heart  he  ever  gave  greater  room  to  the  fancy 
that  the  life  which  he  had  hoped  for  was  realized, 
and  that  the  life  which  he  was  living  was  a  dream. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  he  asked  for  a  little  time  in 
which  to  school  himself  to  meet  the  fate  that  at  a 
single  blow  brought  destruction  to  his  dear  home  on 
earth  and  to  his  dearer  castle  in  the  air. 

Roschen  was  abroad  that  afternoon,  and  as  An 
dreas,  alone  with  his  birds,  turned  over  in  his  mind 
the  answers  which  he  must  give  to  these  young  men 
—who  sought  to  take  to  themselves,  for  the  greater 
pleasure  of  their  young  lives,  the  single  happiness 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  275 

which  his  old  life  had  left  to  it — a  great  bitterness 
possessed  his  soul.  When  they  had  so  much  and  he 
so  little,  it  was  cruel  of  them  to  seek  to  rob  him 
thus,  he  thought.  And  their  love,  after  all,  was  but 
the  growth  of  a  day,  while  his  love  had  been  grow 
ing  steadily  for  forty  years.  Roschen  was  to  him 
at  once  the  sweetheart  of  his  youth  and  the  dear 
daughter  of  his  age.  How  could  these  young  fel 
lows  have  the  effrontery  to  place  their  own  light 
love  fancies  in  rivalry  with  this  profound  love  of 
his  that  was  rooted  in  all  the  years  of  a  lifetime? 
His  thoughts  went  back  to  those  long -past  days 
when  he  and  Christine  first  had  known  each  other 
as  little  children  on  the  sunny  slopes  of  the  Andreas- 
berg,  and  when  began  the  love  that  still  was  a  living 
reality.  And  then  he  followed  downward  through 
the  years  his  own  love-story  from  this  its  beginning 
— the  promise  made  in  the  twilight,  while  the  south 
wind,  laden  with  the  sweet  smell  of  the  pine-trees  of 
the  Sch warzwald, played  about  them;  the  hard  part 
ing  ;  his  joyous  journey  with  his  birds  westward 
across  the  sea  ;  the  black  day  when  that  journey 
ended ;  the  years  of  sorrow  which  closed  in  still 
keener  sorrow  when  his  Christine  was  lost  to  him 
utterly  in  death  ;  and  then  through  the  later  years, 
which  ever  grew  brighter  and  happier  as  his  love 
for  Christine  was  born  anew  and  lived  its  strange, 
half-real  life  in  his  love  for  Christine's  child,  who 
also  was  the  daughter  given  him  by  Heaven  to  cheer 
and  comfort  him  in  his  old  age.  And  now  at  the 
end  of  it  all  he  was  asked  to  give  to  another  this 


276  AN   IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE. 

sweet  flower  of  love  that  for  his  happiness,  almost 
by  a  miracle,  as  it  seemed,  a  second  time  had  bloom, 
ed.  Was  not  this  asking  more  of  him,  he  thought, 
than  rightly  should  be  asked? 

So  heavy  was  the  load  of  bitterness  that  oppress 
ed  him  that  even  the  singing  of  the  Kronprinz,  who 
was  moved  to  break  forth  into  song  just  then,  failed 
for  a  time  to  arouse  him.  Yet  presently  the  sweet 
sound  penetrated  the  thick  substance  of  his  sor 
row,  and  slowly  turned  the  current  of  his  sombre 
thoughts.  Andreas  loved  all  music;  but  because  of 
the  long  train  of  associations  which  it  invoked,  and 
because  of  his  skilled  knowledge  of  its  quality,  there 
was  no  music  so  sweet  to  him  as  the  singing  of  a 
bird.  And  when  the  singer  was  the  Kronprinz,  who 
sang  with  a  mellow  sweetness  rare  and  wonderful, 
the  music  never  failed  to  move  his  tender  nature  to 
its  very  depths.  And  so,  as  he  listened  to  the  sing 
ing  of  his  bird,  gentler  and  better  thoughts  pos 
sessed  him ;  and  then  he  reproached  himself  for  the 
selfishness  that  had  so  filled  his  heart.  He  had  no 
right,  he  thought,  to  stand  in  the  way  of  Roschen's 
happiness — to  compel  her  to  take  the  old  love  that 
he  had  to  give  in  place  of  the  fresh  young  love  that 
was  offered  to  her.  It  was  only  a  foolish  fancy,  this 
that  he  had  cherished,  that  she  was  his  sweetheart 
of  long  ago  ;  it  was  the  rational  truth  that  he  had  to 
deal  with — that  she  was  his  daughter,  who  had  given 
him  in  full  measure  a  daughter's  love  and  duty,  and 
for  whom  now,  as  was  a  father's  duty,  he  must 
secure  a  good  husband,  who  would  care  for  her 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  277 

well  and  loyally  when  death  had  taken  her  father 
from  her.  This  was  the  right  conclusion,  but  all 
the  strength  of  his  will  was  required  to  bring  him 
to  it ;  and  when  at  last  he  said  to  himself  that  what 
so  plainly  was  right  should  be  firmly  done,  the  color 
suddenly  left  his  face,  and  there  went  through  his 
heart  the  sharp  pang  that  he  had  learned  to  dread 
because  of  the  agony  of  it.  So  wrenching  was  the 
pain  that  he  could  not  repress  a  cry;  but  it  was  not 
a  loud  cry,  and  the  sound  of  it  was  lost  in  the  glad 
carolling  of  the  Kronprinz's  song. 

When  Roschen  came  home,  a  little  later,  she  was 
frightened  by  finding  her  father  looking  so  pale  and 
worn ;  but  the  sight  of  her  dear  face,  and  her  loving 
looks  and  words,  revived  him  quickly,  and  her  fear 
passed  by.  And  she  forgot  her  fear  the  sooner  be 
cause  of  the  momentous  question  which  he  then  op 
ened  to  her ;  for  this  last  sharp  seizure,  keener  than 
any  that  had  preceded  it,  had  warned  Andreas  that 
the  duty  which  he  had  to  do  should  not  be  delayed. 

Very  tenderly  and  lovingly  did  he  speak  of  this 
heart  matter  to  his  little  rose,  his  Roschen,  as  she 
sat  beside  him  on  a  low  stool,  after  the  childish 
habit  that  she  never  had  relinquished,  while  her 
head  was  nestled  against  his  breast,  and  while  he 
stroked  her  fair  hair  gently  with  his  thin,  delicate 
hand.  And  as  he  made  clear  to  her  all  that  she 
was  to  know,  and  explained  to  her  that  the  decision 
between  these  rival  lovers,  or  the  rejection  of  them 
both,  must  be  made  by  herself,  the  rosiness  of  this 
pretty  Roschen  became  a  deep  crimson,  and  her 


278  AX    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST   SIDE. 

head  sank  down  upon  her  father's  breast  so  that  her 
face  was  hid  from  him  ;  and  as  his  arms  clasped  her 
closely  to  this  loving  haven  she  fell  to  crying  gently 
there,  as  in  such  cases  is  a  proper  maiden's  rather 
unreasonable  way. 

"  Does  the  thought  of  lovers  make  thee  sad,  my 
little  one?"  Andreas  asked;  and  he  could  not  quite 
stifle,  though  he  tried  hard  to  stifle,  the  hope  that 
perhaps  Roschen  might  settle  this  present  matter  so 
that  for  a  little  time  longer  she  still  would  be  wholly 
his  own. 

"  It  is  not  the  thought  of  lovers,  dear  father," 
Roschen  answered,  and  her  voice  was  low  and  bro 
ken,  "but  the  thought  that  anything  should  take 
me  away  from  thee." 

The  hope  grew  larger  in  the  heart  of  Andreas, 
but  he  said  :  "  The  young  Ilerr  Strauss  will  make 
thee  a  fine  husband,  my  daughter.  He  is  a  rich 
young  man  already,  and — " 

But  Roschen  promptly  cut  short  this  eulogy  by 
raising  her  head  abruptly  and  saying,  with  great 
decision  :  "  He  is  a  horrid  young  man,  and  nothing 
is  good  about  him  at  all.  He  tries  to  cheat  thee 
whenever  he  comes  here  to  buy  our  birds  ;  and — 
and  he  has  said  things  to  me  ;  and  he — and  he  tried 
to  kiss  me.  Ugh  !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Herr  Strauss — nothing  at  all !" 

As  she  spoke,  Roschen  held  up  her  head  firmly 
and  looked  Andreas  straight  in  the  eyes.  Her  own 
eyes  quite  sparkled  with  anger,  for  all  the  tears  that 
were  in  them ;  and  the  tone  in  which  she  pronounced 


AX   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE.  279 

the  name  of  the  Herr  Strauss  suggested  pointedly 
that  he  was  one  of  the  various  unpleasant  creatures 
which  humanity  disposes  of  with  tongs.  All  this 
was  so  emphatic  that  Andreas  suffered  his  hope  to 
grow  yet  stronger ;  for  now,  certainly,  one  of  these 
lovers  was  put  safely  out  of  his  way. 

"And  Ludwig,  my  little  one?" 

Roschen  did  not  speak,  but  the  angry  sparkle 
that  was  in  her  eyes  gave  place  to  a  softer  and 
much  pleasanter  brightness,  and  a  still  deeper  crim 
son  showed  in  the  pretty  face  that  she  hid  again 
suddenly  upon  her  father's  breast. 

"And  Ludwig?"  Andreas  repeated. 

But  still  Roschen  did  not  speak.  She  put  her 
arms  around  her  father's  neck,  and  nestled  her  head 
beneath  his  chin  in  a  lovingly  coaxing  way  that  she 
had  devised  when  she  was  a  little  child;  and  then 
she  fell  again  to  sobbing  gently. 

"  Hast  thou,  then,  nothing  to  say  of  this  friend  of 
ours,  my  daughter?"  Andreas  spoke  eagerly,  his 
hope  being  very  strong  within  him  now  ;  for  he  was 
not  versed  in  the  ways  of  maidens,  and  the  silence 
that  would  have  been  so  eloquent  to  another  woman 
or  to  a  wiser  man  conveyed  a  very  false  notion  to 
his  mind. 

"Thou  hast  told  me,  dear  father,  that  Ludwig 
makes  very  good  shoes,"  Roschen  said  at  last,  speak 
ing  hesitatingly,  and  in  a  voice  so  low  that  it  was 
little  more  than  a  whisper. 

"Yes,"  Andreas  answered,  somewhat  taken  aback 
by  the  irrelevant  and  very  matter-of-fact  nat- 


280  AX    IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE. 

ure  of  this  remark;  "yes,  Ludwig  makes  good 
shoes." 

"And  thou  likest  those  which  he  has  made  for 
thee?" 

"  Truly.  They  are  good  shoes.  They  have  cured 
my  corns."  Andreas  spoke  with  feeling.  He  was 
sincerely  grateful  to  Ludwig  for  having  cured  his 
corns.  "But  it  is  not  of  Lud wig's  shoes  that  we 
are  talking  now,  my  Roschen,"  he  went  on.  "  It  is 
of  Ludwig  himself.  Hast  thou  nothing  to  say  in 
answer  to  what  he  asks  ?" 

Through  her  tears  Roschen  laughed  a  little,  and 
she  pressed  her  head  still  more  closely  beneath  her 
father's  chin.  "Thou  dear  foolish  one,"  she  said, 
"  canst  thou  not  understand  ?"  And  then,  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  she  went  on:  "Hast  thou  not 
seen,  dear  father,  how  all  the  birds  love  Ludwig, 
and  of  their  own  accord  go  to  him?" 

Then  a  little  light  broke  in  upon  Andreas,  and  the 
hope  that  he  had  cherished  began  to  pale ;  but  he 
answered  stoutly:  "Yes,  the  birds  love  him,  for  he 
is  a  good  young  man.  And  thou,  my  daughter?" 

And  Roschen  answered  in  a  voice  so  low  and 
tremulous  that  Andreas  divined  rather  than  heard 
the  words  she  spoke :  "  Perhaps  it  is  with  me  also, 
dear  father,  as  it  is  with  the  birds  !" 

For  a  little  time  there  was  silence — for  Andreas  did 
not  trust  himself  to  speak  while  his  hope  was  dying 
in  his  heart — then  he  raised  the  pretty  head  from 
its  resting-place  upon  his  breast,  and  as  he  kissed 
the  forehead  that  was  so  like  the  dead  Christine's, 


' Perhaps  it  is  with  me  also,  dear  father,  as  it  is  witJi  the  birdx.' 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE.  /     283 

he  said,  reverently  and  tenderly :  "  For  thy  good  and 
happiness,  my  dear  one,  may  God's  will  be  done." 
And  as  he  clasped  her  again  to  him  closely,  the 
Kronprinz  once  more  lifted  up  his  voice  in  sweetest 
song. 

When  at  last  Roschen  raised  her  rosy,  happy  face 
from  her  father's  breast,  she  was  so  full  of  the  won 
der  that  had  come  to  pass  that  she  did  not  perceive 
his  weary  look,  nor  how  pale  he  was  ;  yet  less  pale 
now  than  a  little  time  before  when  his  face  was  un 
seen  by  her. 

And  presently  the  rosiness  of  this  sweet  Roschen 
grew  still  deeper  as  the  shop  door  opened,  with  a 
great  tinkling  of  its  little  bell,  and  Ludwig  entered. 
Andreas  arose  from  his  chair  slowly — but  neither  of 
them  noticed  how  feeble  and  labored  were  his  mo 
tions,  like  those  of  a  weak  old  man — and  clasped  in 
both  of  his  own  Ludwig's  great  brown  hand,  while 
with  a  look  of  love  he  said:  "It  is  as  thou  wouldst 
have  it,  my  son.  This  dear  rose  of  my  growing 
will  bloom  in  thy  garden  now  " — and  he  led  Lud 
wig  to  where  Roschen,  who  indeed  was  a  true 
rose  just  then,  was  standing  and  put  her  hand  in 
his. 

And  then,  with  a  wistful  eagerness,  he  went  on  : 
"And  thou  wilt  care  for  her  very  tenderly  and  well, 
in  my  place  ?  Thou  canst  not  understand  what  my 
love  has  been ;  part  of  it,  I  know,  has  been  foolish 
ness — and  that  which  thou  wilt  give  her,  if  it  be 
strong  and  steadfast,  will  be  far  better  than  ever 
was  mine.  For  it  is  the  way  of  life  " — and  here  the 


284  AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE. 

voice  of  Andreas  trembled  and  fell  a  little — "that 
for  young  hearts  love  also  must  be  young." 

"  With  God's  help,  dear  father,  I  will  be  true  and 
good  to  her,"  Ludwig  answered,  speaking  with  a 
stout  heartiness  that  gave  the  ring  of  truth  to  his 
words ;  "  and  I  will  care  well  for  her  and  for  thee 
too." 

"For  me  it  will  not  be  long,"  Andreas  answered; 
"but  give  the  care  which  thou  wouldst  have  given 
to  me  to  these  my  birds." 

"  Do  not  make  us  sad  to-day,  dear  father,  by  such 
gloomy  words,"  said  Roschen,  as  she  put  her  arms 
around  his  neck.  "  To-day  a  beautiful  time  of  hap 
piness  has  begun  for  us." 

"Truly  a  beautiful  time  of  happiness  has  begun," 
Andreas  answered;  "and  I  thank  God  that  I  have 
seen  its  beginning — for  when  grief  comes  to  thee, 
and  grief  must  come  to  us  all,  my  daughter,  thou 
hast  now  a  strong  young  heart  to  stay  and  comfort 
thee.  Yes,  this  is  truly  the  beginning  of  a  happy 
time."  It  was  with  a  very  tender  smile  that  An 
dreas  spoke  these  cheery  words ;  and  he  added, 
cheerily:  "Now  go  out  into  the  Square,  my  chil 
dren,  and  say  to  each  other  the  words  which  I  know 
are  in  your  hearts.  I  will  be  glad  in  your  happiness 
as  I  sit  here  among  my  birds." 

And  so  Andreas,  for  the  second  time  in  his  life, 
was  left  alone  with  his  birds. 

As  he  sat  there,  desolate,  he  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands,  and  between  his  thin  fingers  there  was  a 
glistening  of  tears.  It  was  so  hard  to  bear  !  They 


AN   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST    SIDE.  287 

strain  that  seemed  to  tell  of  restful  triumph  and 
eternal  joy.  And  on  the  gentle,  kindly  face  of  An 
dreas,  as  he  sat  there  so  very  quietly  while  all  the 
air  around  him  with  these  sweet  sounds  was  vibrant, 
there  was  a  most  tender  smile  that  told  of  perfect 
peace. 


THE    END. 


AX   IDYL    OF   THE    EAST   SIDE.  285 

might  have  waited  just  a  little  while,  he  thought ; 
it  would  not  have  been  very  long.  For  he  forgot, 
and  perhaps  it  would  be  unfair  to  blame  him  for 
forgetting,  his  own  desire  that  before  that  little 
time  should  pass  his  Roschen  should  have  assured 
to  her  the  good  care-taker  whom  she  surely  would 
need  when  the  season  of  sorrow  came.  A  little  thrill 
of  pain,  a  premonition  of  which  he  knew  the  meaning, 
ran  through  him. 

Then  it  was  that  the  Kronprinz  began  to  sing. 
The  notes  at  first  were  low  and  liquid,  and  they  fell 
soothingly  upon  the  ears,  and  so  into  the  heart  of 
this  poor  Andreas  ;  and  as  they  rose  higher  and  full 
er  and  clearer,  light  began  to  show  for  him  where 
only  darkness  had  been.  The  other  birds,  fired  to 
emulation  by  these  mellow  warblings,  joined  in  a 
sweet  chorus,  above  which  the  strong  rich  notes  of 
the  Kronprinz  rose  in  triumphant  waves  of  harmony. 
And  gladness  came  then  into  the  heart  of  Andreas, 
and  great  thankfulness  ;  for  as  the  music  of  the 
birds  exalted  him  he  seemed  to  see  with  a  strange 
clearness  into  the  depths  of  the  future,  and  all  that 
he  saw  there  promised  well  for  those  whom  he  loved. 
Such  wonderful  music  was  this  that  the  very  air 
about  him  seemed  to  be  growing  goldenly  radiant ; 
and  with  a  certain  awe  creeping  into  his  heart  he 
seemed  to  hear  low  echoes  of  a  music  even  more 
ravishingly  beautiful  that  came  faintly  yet  with  a 
bell-like  clearness  from  very  far  away. 

Truly  there  was  something  strange  about  this  mu 
sic,  for  even  Bielfrak,  who  was  grown  to  be  a  deaf, 
17 


286 


AN    IDYL    OF    THE    EAST    SIDE. 


rheumatic  old  dog  now,  heard  it  and  was  greatly 
moved  by  it.  From  his  comfortable  rug  in  the  cor 
ner  he  raised  himself  painfully  upon  his  haunches, 
and,  pointing  his  noise  upward,  uttered  a  long  mel 
ancholy  howl.  Then  he  came  by  slow  effort  across 
the  room  to  where  his  master  sat  and  laid  his  head 
upon  his  master's  knee.  And  there  was  a  puzzled 
look  upon  Bielfrak's  face,  for  never  before  had  he 
thus  manifested  the  love  that  was  in  his  honest  heart 
without  finding  a  quick  response  to  it  in  the  gentle 
touch  of  his  master's  hand.  Yet  now  that  hand  re 
mained  most  strangely  still,  and  it  was  strangely 
white,  and  Bielfrak  drew  back  suddenly  from  touch 
ing  it — finding  it  most  strangely  cold. 


The  birds  had  been  frightened  into  silence  by 
Bielfrak's  howl,  but  now  they  all  burst  forth  again 
into  the  song  of  strange  and  wonderful  sweetness 
that  of  a  sudden  they  had  learned  to  sing.  In  waves 
of  harmony  the  chorus  rose  and  fell,  and  above  all 
sounded  the  notes  of  the  Kronprinz,  rich,  full,  clear, 
so  delicately  perfect  as  to  seem  a  blending  of  sun 
light  and  of  sound.  And  in  this  song  there  was  a 


BY  CONSTANCE  F.  WOOLSOK 

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There  is  a  certain  bright  cheerfulness  in  Miss  Woolson's  writing 
which  invests  all  her  characters  with  lovable  qualities.— Jewish  Advo 
cate,  N.  Y. 

Miss  \Yoolson  is  among  onr  few  successful  writers  of  interesting 
magazine  stories,  and  her  skill  and  power  are  perceptible  in  the  de 
lineation  of  her  heroines  no  less  than  in  the  suggestive  pictures  of 
local  \\fe.-Jewish  Messenger,  N.  Y. 

Constance  Fenimore  Woolsou  may  easily  become  the  novelist 
laureate. — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Woolson  has  a  graceful  fancy,  a  ready  wit,  a  polished  style,  and 
conspicuous  dramatic  power ;  while  her  skill  in  the  development  of  a 
story  is  very  remarkable. — London  Life. 

Miss  Woolsou  never  once  follows  the  beaten  track  of  the  orthodox 
novelist,  but  strikes  a  new  and  richly  loaded  vein,  which  so  far  is  all 
her  own  ;  and  thus  we  feel,  on  reading  one  of  her  works,  a  fresh  sen 
sation,  and  we  put  down  the  book  with  a  sigh  to  think  our  pleasant 
task  of  reading  it  is  finished.  The  author's  lines  must  have  fallen  to 
her  in  very  pleasant  places;  or  she  has,  perhaps,  within  herself  the 
wealth  of  womanly  love  and  tenderness  she  pours  so  freely  into  all 
ehe  writes.  Such  books  as  hers  do  much  to  elevate  the  moral  tone  of 
the  day — a  quality  sadly  wanting  in  novels  of  the  time. — Whitehall 
Review,  London. 


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BEN-HUE:  A  TALE   OF  THE  CHRIST. 

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Anything  so  startling,  new,  and  distinctive  as  the  leading  feature  of 
this  romance  does  not  often  appear  in  works  of  fiction.  .  .  .  Some  of 
Mr.  Wallace's  writing  is  remarkable  for  its  pathetic  eloquence.  The 
scenes  described  in  the  New  Testament  are  re-written  with  the  power 
and  skill  of  an  accomplished  master  of  style.— .V.  Y.  Times. 

Its  real  basis  is  a  description  of  the  life  of  the  Jews  and  Romans  at 
the  beginning  of  the  Christian  era,  and  this  is  both  forcible  and  brill 
iant.  .  .  .  We  are  carried  through  a  surprising  variety  of  scenes;  we 
witness  a  sea-fight,  a  chariot-race,  the  internal  economy  of  a  Roman 
galley,  domestic  interiors  at  Autioch,  at  Jerusalem,  and  among  the 
tribes  of  the  desert;  palaces,  prisons,  the  haunts  of  dissipated  Roman 
youth,  the  houses  of  pious  families  of  Israel.  There  is  plenty  of  ex 
citing  incident;  everything  is  animated,  vivid,  and  glowing.— A".  I". 
Tribune. 

From  the  opening  of  the  volume  to  the  very  close  the  reader's  in 
terest  will  be  kept  at  the  highest  pitch,  and  the  novel  will  be  pro 
nounced  by  all  one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day. — Boston  Post. 

It  is  full  of  poetic  beauty,  as  though  born  of  an  Eastern  sage,  and 
there  is  sufficient  of  Oriental  customs,  geography,  nomenclature,  etc., 
to  greatly  strengthen  the  semblance.— .Boston  Commonwealth. 

"  Ben-Hur  "  is  interesting,  and  its  characterization  is  fine  and  strong. 
Meanwhile  it  evinces  careful  study  of  the  period  in  which  the  scene  is 
laid,  and  will  help  those  who  read  it  with  reasonable  attention  to  real- 
ize  the  nature  and  conditions  of  Hebrew  life  in  Jerusalem  and  Ro 
man  life  at  Autioch  at  the  time  of  our  Saviour's  advent.— Examiner, 

N.Y. 

It  is  really  Scripture  history  of  Christ's  time,  clothed  gracefully  and 
delicately  in  the  flowing  and  loose  drapery  of  modern  fiction.  .  . .  Few 
late  works  of  fiction  excel  it  in  genuine  ability  and  interest.— N.  Y. 
Graphic. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  and  delightful  books.  It  is  as  real  and 
warm  as  life  itself,  and  as  attractive  as  the  grandest  and  most  heroic 
chapters  of  history.—  Indianapolis  Journal. 

The  book  is  one  of  unquestionable  power,  and  will  be  read  with  un 
wonted  interest  by  many  readers  who  are  weary  of  the  conventional 
novel  and  romance. — Boston  Journal. 


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Only  an  artistic  hand  could  have  written  these  stories,  and  they  will 
make  delightful  reading. — Evangelist,  N.  Y. 

The  simplicity,  purity,  and  quaintness  of  these  stories  set  them  apart 
in  a  niche  of  distinction  where  they  have  no  rivals. — Literary  World, 
Boston. 

The  reader  who  buys  this  book  and  reads  it  will  find  treble  his  money's 
worth  in  every  one  of  the  delightful  stories. — Chicago  Journal. 

Miss  Wilkins  is  a  writer  who  has  a  gift  for  the  rare  art  of  creating  the 
short  story  which  shall  be  a  character  study  and  a  bit  of  graphic  picturing 
in  one  ;  and  all  who  enjoy  the  bright  and  fascinating  short  story  will  wel 
come  this  volume. — Boston  Traveller, 

The  author  has  the  unusual  gift  of  writing  a  short  story  which  is  com 
plete  in  itself,  having  a  real  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end.  The  volume 
is  an  excellent  one. — Observer,  N.  Y. 

A  gallery  of  striking  studies  in  the  humblest  quarters  of  American 
country  life.  No  one  has  dealt  with  this  kind  of  life  better  than  Miss 
Wilkins.  Nowhere  are  there  to  be  found  such  faithful,  delicately  drawn, 
sympathetic,  tenderly  humorous  pictures. — N.  Y.  Tribune. 

The  charm  of  Miss  Wilkins's  stories  is  in  her  intimate  acquaintance 
and  comprehension  of  humble  life,  and  the  sweet  human  interest  she 
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people  she  draws. — Springfield  Republican. 

There  is  no  attempt  at  fine  writing  or  structural  effect,  but  the  tender 
treatment  of  the  sympathies,  emotions,  and  passions  of  no  very  extraor 
dinary  people  gives  to  these  little  stories  a  pathos  and  human  feeling  quite 
their  own. — N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser. 

The  author  has  given  us  studies  from  real  life  which  must  be  the  result 
of  a  lifetime  of  patient,  sympathetic  observation.  ...  No  one  has  done 
the  same  kind  of  work  so  lovingly  and  so  well. — Christian  Register, 
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One  is  permitted  to  discover  qualities  of  mind  and  a  proficiency  and 
capacity  in  art  from  which  something  new  and  distinctively  the  work 
of  genius  may  be  anticipated  in  American  literature. — Boston  Globe. 

Miss  Rives  has  imagination,  breadth,  and  a  daring  and  courage 
ofcenest  spoken  of  as  masculine.  Moreover,  she  is  exquisitely  poet 
ical,  and  her  ideals,  with  all  the  mishaps  of  her  delineations,  are  of  an 
exalted  order.— .V.  Y.  Star. 

It  was  little  more  than  two  years  ago  that  Miss  Rives  made  her  first 
literary  conquest,  a  conquest  so  complete  and  astonishing  as  at  once 
to  give  her  fame.  How  well  she  has  sustained  and  added  to  the  repu 
tation  she  so  suddenly  won,  we  all  know,  and  the  permanency  of  that 
reputation  demonstrates  conclusively  that  her  success  did  not  depend 
upon  the  lucky  striking  of  a  popular  fancy,  but  that  it  rests  upon  en 
during  qualities  that  are  developing  more  and  more  richly  year  by 
year.  —  Richmond  State. 

It  is  evident  that  the  author  has  imagination  in  an  unusual  degree, 
much  strength  of  expression,  and  skill  in  delineating  character. — Eos- 
ton  Journal. 

There  are  few  young  writers  who  begin  a  promising  career  with  so 
much  spontaneity  and  charm  of  expression  as  is  displayed  by  Miss 
Rives. — Literary  World,  Boston. 

The  trait  which  the  author  seems  to  take  the  most  pleasure  in  de 
picting  is  the  passionate  loyalty  of  a  girl  to  her  lover  or  of  a  young 
wile  to  her  husband,  and  her  portrayal  of  this  trait  has  feeling,  and  is 
set  off  by  an  unconventional  style  and  brisk  movement. — The  Book 
Buyer,  N.  Y. 

There  is  such  a  wealth  of  imagination,  such  an  exuberance  of  strik 
ing  language  in  the  productions  of  this  author,  as  to  attract  and  hold 
the  vender.— Toledo  Blade. 

Miss  Rives  is  essentially  a  teller  of  love  stories,  and  relates  them 
with  such  simple,  straightforward  grace  that  she  at  once  captures  the 
sympathy  and  interest  of  the  reader.  .  .  .  There  is  a  freshness  of  feeling 
and  a  mingling  of  pathos  and  humor  which  are  simply  delicious. — Xew 
London  Telegraph. 

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